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AN HUNDRED-FOLD 


OR, 


MRS. BELMONT’S HARVEST. 


BY 

/ 

MRS. SUSAN M. GRIFFITH. 


»i 


KicJ^monb, Da.: 

Presbyterian Committee of Publication. 


.Gr22 



GO 5 Copyrighted 

BY 

J A S. K. H A Z E N, Secretary of Publication, 
1898. 


Printed by 

Whiitet & Shepperson, 
Richmond, Va, 


AUG - 8 1898 




of Covl 






XAxa 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 
The Belmont Family, . 

CHAPTER II. 

The Letter, 

CHAPTER III. 


The Storm Continues, . 


CHAPTER IV. 
How Ward Looked at It, 

CHAPTER V. 

Kate’s Friends on Rose Street, . 

CHAPTER VI. 

Mamie’s Lesson, . . . . 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Home-coming, 

CHAPTER VIII. 
What Shall W^e Do? 

CHAPTER IX. 


Page. 

7 

19 

26 

34 

43 

51 

66 

64 


Brownie’s Penny, 


3 


73 


4 


Contents, 


CHAPTER X. Page. 

The Prayer, . . . . . . 81 

CHAPTER XI. 

Are You Right? 89 

CHAPTER XIL 

Mrs. Knox, ...... 100 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Katie’s Letter, ..... 109 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Hard Heart, ...... 117 

CHAPTER XV. 

Mamie’s Party, ...... 125 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Ward in Trouble, . . . . '. 134 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Taking Root, ...... 145 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Clyde’s Rescue, ...... 153 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Step Forward, ..... 161 

CHAPTER XX. 

Kate Makes a Beginning, . . . .. 169 


Contents. 


5 


CHAPTER XXL page. 

Ward’s Prescription, . . . . 179 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Gathering Shadow, . . . , 188 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Rainy Days, 199 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Mamie’s Young People’s Society, . . 209 

CHAPTER XXY. 

Sadie Sloan, 219 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Kate at Sea, ...... 228 

CHAPTER XXVIL 

Mr. Percival’s Counsel, .... 234 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The First Ingathering, . . . . 241 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Brownie’s Secret, ..... 250 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Brownie’s Secret — Continued, . . . 259 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Uncle Richard Barnes, .... 267 


6 


Contents. 


CHAPTER XXXII. pagb. 

Ward Comes to the Front, . . . 275 

CHAPTER XXXIIL 

Kate’s Decision, . . . . . 284 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

“So He Giveth His Beloved Sleep,” . . 292 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Standing by His Colors, . . . . 298 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Meta, ....... 305 

CHAPTER XXXVIL 

Helping to Left the Load, . . . 313 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A Serious Question, ..... 320 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Outward Bound, ..... 329 

CHAPTER XL. 


Golden Sheaves, 


335 


AN HUNDRED-FOLD; 

OR, 

MRS. BELMONT’S HARVEST. 


CHAPTEE 1. 

THE BELMONT FAMILY. 

I T was a cold, rainy evening in November. 
The pavements were slippery with sleet, 
and the street lamps flickered uncertainly 
in the wind which blew in fitful gusts around 
the street corners and down the wide avenue 
of the pretty college town of Oakland. The 
few pedestrians upon the streets hurried on 
under their streaming umbrellas, wrapped in 
silence, barely speaking as they passed their 
acquaintances, and the brilliantly- lighted stores 
and places of entertainment bade fair to be left 
desolate. The dwelling-houses were fast closed 
against the storm, the shutters being drawn and 
every slat closed, that not a ray of the warm 
light within might lose itself in the outer dark- 
ness. 

There was an exception, however, on Eose 
street in the form of a story-and-a-half cottage 
with a bay window, in which were stored a 
multitude of choice plants in full bloom. There 
7 


8 


An Hundred-Fold. 


were no shutters to this house, and the curtains 
were drawn aside, seemingly on purpose to let 
the rich glow of the coal fire, combined with 
the blaze of a large hanging lamp, stream out 
in welcome radiance to the weary plodders 
through the rain. Certain it was that more 
than one eye was caught by the cheery, home- 
like interior, and more than one poor pedes- 
trian sighed and wished that he had reached 
his stopping-place, and that the cozy nest he 
could look into so freely was his own. In the 
dining-room the light was bright, too, and 
through the generous window one could see 
the supper-table spread with the whitest of 
cloths and the daintiest of dishes, to which a 
young girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age 
was putting the finishing touches with a skilful 
hand and a business-like air that bespoke the 
domestic artist. 

This handsome, cozy house on Eose street 
belonged to the Belmont family. The children 
had all been born in it, and would have cried 
out at leaving it for any other home. Mr. 
George Belmont was a minister, and the de- 
voted pastor of Westminster Church, Oakland. 
He had been called there when a young man, 
and had been there ever since. He had mar- 
ried “ the sweetest girl in Oakland,” and three 
years before our story opens, just such a 
dark, rainy November day as this, he had laid 
her in the cemetery, and, with a bursting heart, 
had given her back to God. Since then Kate, 
his oldest daughter, had kept house for him 
and cared for the children with an energy and 
an ability which was surprising, and the church 


9 


The Belmont Family. 

folks grew fond of saying that the “Doctor 
never need to think of marrying again.” So 
secure did his flock rest in this belief that his 
frequent absences to his native city excited no 
comment, especially as his aged mother still 
lived there, and required his frequent attention. 
He had been absent now for some weeks on 
account of the perilous sickness of his parent, 
and the pulpit was supplied by a student from 
a neighboring university by the name of Arthur 
Percival, and who stayed with the Belmonts 
from Saturday evening until Monday morning 
of each week. 

It was Saturday evening, the night of which 
I write, and Kate was expecting him, together 
with her brother Harold. He always came up 
on the evening train and stopped at McMillen’s 
store, where Harold clerked, on his way to the 
house, and came home with him. 

Kate was a most excellent housekeeper. 
Everything was always in perfect order, from 
the garret windows to the children’s shoes and 
stockings; but even she put on some extras 
for company, and Mr. Percival was a favorite 
guest. 

Looking closely at Kate, we see a tall, grace- 
ful girl with very black hair and eyes, smart- 
looking and rather handsome, with any amount 
of “push” in her, and but little of the tender- 
ness and gentleness for which her sex is 
famous. There is an habitual little frown, too, 
between the eyes, as if she were not altogether 
pleased with life in all its features, and would 
enjoy changing things to her own standard if 
she could. But her energy and real worth are 


10 


An Hundred-Fold, 


so much to be admired that the manifest un- 
pleasantness of face is soon forgotten. 

Harold, the oldest brother, is the opposite of 
Kate, fair and pleasant-faced, whose gentle 
manners make him a general favorite with one 
and all ; in fact, he is a popular young man, as 
he most certainly deserves to be. 

Ward comes next, a boy of sixteen, as slow 
in motion as Harold and Kate are active, rather 
cynical in looks and actions, and possessed of 
a proud, reserved, and almost secret manner. 
His dusky black eyes have passionate depths 
in them that make one shudder, and his head 
of thick black hair, which never seems to have 
formed a very extensive acquaintance with the 
brush and comb, has a somewhat ferocious ap- 
pearance. One need not be in the house a 
very long time in order to perceive that he is 
the “black sheep of the family,” “the most 
provoking boy in the world” to Kate, the tease 
and torment of the younger children, and his 
father’s chief source of anxiety. 

Then there is Mamie, a sweet-faced and very 
pretty little girl of ten; brown-eyed, brown- 
haired, and brown-faced, who rejoices in the 
fact that she “looks just like papa.” Mamie is 
a good child ; gets the best grades at school, 
belongs to the Junior Young People’s Society, 
and never has to be told to study her Sunday- 
school lesson. Besides this, she is tidy and 
useful at home, and helps Kate in the house- 
keeping much more than the older sister is will- 
ing to acknowledge. 

Last on the list is Master George Brown 
Belmont, commonly called Brownie, a four-year- 


TJie Belmont Family, 11 

old baby in kilts. Brownie is the acknow- 
ledged beauty of the family, and the prettiest 
child on Bose street. Not a house on the 
street can produce a boy or girl with Brownie’s 
long, shimmering, golden curls, and eyes of 
heavenly blue, and a look in them such as an- 
gels wear. Nowhere is there such a rosy, dim- 
pled face, such a bewitching smile, and such a 
pair of tempting lips. They say that he is the 
image of the mother who sleeps in the quiet 
cemetery, and, of course, he is the special pet, 
though Kate is not in the habit of petting any- 
body, but believes in showing her affection by 
“taking care of them.” 

This particular Saturday night in November, 
the two children had been duly bathed, dressed 
in their good clothes, and established before the 
fire to occupy themselves in studying deport- 
ment, while Kate busied herself in dining-room 
and kitchen in getting up a good supper, some- 
thing in which she took a special pride. The 
bread-baskets on the table held brown and 
white bread of her own making. The canned 
fruit, jelly, and jam she had put up without one 
bit of help; the chocolate cake and ambrosia 
she had made that very afternoon, and the odor 
of escalloped oysters and boiling coffee from the 
little kitchen just beyond were enough to de- 
light the heart of any fastidious lady or gen- 
tleman. As for the two children ensconced 
before the fire, one in his little cushioned 
rocker, the other on a hassock very near him, 
the smell of the good things made them nearly 
wild. 

“ We’re hungry, ain’t us, Mamie ? ” sighed the 


12 


An Hundred-Fold. 


small boy, looking fixedly into the fire, and 
shaking his golden head soberly. 

‘‘I should say so,” replied Miss Mamie, try- 
ing to peer into the dining-room, and tumbling 
off the hassock in the attempt. “I’m just about 
starved.” 

“ I wish’t Kate would give us some bread to 
eat,” said Brownie in a low voice. “ Sometimes 
she does. Once she gived us a cinnamon roll, 
and didn’t us eat it up quick, Mamie ? ” 

“ I guess we did. Say, Brownie, let’s slip 
out and take a look at the table, will you?” 

“Well, lets,” said the little boy eagerly. 

“Don’t make a speck of noise,” cautioned 
Mamie, walking on tip-toe and making sure 
that Kate was nowhere to be seen. “There, 
Brownie, isn’t that splendid? That’s ambrosia 
in that big glass dish. And see those lady-fin- 
gers and those cranberry tarts? Aren’t they 
nice?” 

“Oh, oh, Ma-wie.^” breathed, rather than 
spoke the baby, “ such boo-ti-ful cake. Couldn’t 
I have dess a leetle, tiny bit?” 

“No, no! mustn’t touch,” whispered the lit- 
tle girl, putting her hands resolutely behind 
her, and walking around and around the table, 
describing each article as she passed to her de- 
voted little follower. Bound and round they 
went, until Brownie, forgetting everything in the 
rapture of the moment, burst out with a de- 
lighted squeal, which immediately brought Kate 
to the door. 

“Children,” said she, in an irritated tone, 
“ didn’t I tell you to sit down and behave your- 
selves ? Now, go straight out of the dining-room 


13 


The Belmont Family, 

as quick as you can march. Mamie, you ought 
to be ashamed of yourself.” 

“ Kate’s cross,” whispered the little girl, go- 
ing reluctantly back to her seat by the fire, fol- 
lowed by Brownie, hanging his curly head on 
one side as he did when reproved. ‘‘We were 
not doing one mite of harm — not one speck.” 

“No,” echoed Brownie, sitting down in his 
little rocker disconsolately. “I didn’t take a 
bit of cake, did I, Mamie? or ’brosia eiver? ” 

“Of course you didn’t, sweetie; I guess not, 
then ; and I never so much as touched the table- 
cloth. I do wish Kate wasn’t so cross.” 

“ Maybe it makes her cross to make the ’bro- 
sia and choc’late cake and cramberry tarts,” 
suggested Brownie thoughtfully. 

“ Oh, it donH!'^ exclaimed Mamie impatiently. 
“She’s just hateful, that’s all.” 

“ When we grow up to be big mens we 
won’t be hateful, will us, Mamie?” queried the 
boy. “We’ll give our little hungry girl and boy 
a great big piece of cake to eat, and — and a 
whole orange, when they have to sit by the 
fire in their good clothes ; won’t us, Mamie ? ” 

“Yes, we will; but there comes Ward. I 
know he’ll catch it, because he didn’t come in 
time to do the chores. I heard Kate splitting 
kindlings and bringing in wood and water 
quite a while ago.” 

“Halloa, Gold-locks and Dame Durden! 
What are you hugging the fire for? Coal’s 
too expensive for you to be monopolizing it 
after this fashion. Skip over to the other side 
and give a fellow a chance to get dry. It’s 
raining cats and dogs, and I left my umbrella 


14 


An Hundred- Fold. 


over to Jud’s. Where’s Kate, Marne, and 
how’s supper ? I’m in the very last stages of 
starvation. Go out and get me something to 
eat, Midget; there’s an angel.” 

“Oh! I daresn’t,” replied Mamie. “Kate’s 
cross, and you didn’t come in time to do the 
chores, you know.” 

“The chores be — oh! suspended said 
Ward, with a wicked grimace and a mischiev- 
ous pull of Brownie’s curls. “What you got 
on your best bib and tucker for, kid ? ” 

“ Why, don’t you know ? ” said Mamie. “ Mr. 
Percival is coming, and we always put on our 
good clothes for him.” 

“We’re going to have ’brosia and choc’late 
cake for supper, Wardie ; ain’t us, Mamie? If 
you’re good, maybe Kate ’ll give you some; 
maybe she will,” said Brownie. 

“If all this is the truth,” said Ward, “it is 
perfectly irresistible. I’m going on a foraging 
expedition ; ” and rising lazily from his chair, 
he shuffled across the room, the mud dropping 
from his extremely dirty shoes at every step. 
“Halloa!” as his eyes rested on the hand- 
somely-spread table. “ Kate’s got up a dandy 
spread for the Rev. Solemncholy, hasn’t she? 
Here goes for the enemy’s rations.” And he 
reached out his arm across the table, clad as it 
was in a very wet and much- soiled coat-sleeve, 
and seized a slice of cake, a banana, a pickle 
and a piece of cheese just as Kate appeared in 
the doorway. 

“Ward Belmont, if you ain’t the meanest 
boy I ever saw in all my life!” she exclaimed, 
springing forward. “ Put that cake right 


15 


The Belmont Family. 

straight back and get out of here. I’m going 
to tell father how you act, young man! I 
never did see such a mean, contemptible being 
as you are.” 

For answer, Ward bit a great piece out of 
the cake and held the remnant aloft tauntingly, 
at the same time managing to pull the hair- 
pins out of her hair, thereby letting the whole 
heavy mass fall in disorder about her shoulders. 
“ If you only knew how pretty and interesting 
you look, Kate, my dear,” said he, mockingly, 
“you would spend your time admiring your- 
self in the mirror. The angelic sweetness of 
your sisterly countenance is enough to chal- 
lenge an artist’s skill.” 

“Oh, get out!” said Kate, almost beside her- 
self with anger. “You are certainly the hate- 
fullest boy that ever was born into this world. 
Just do look at yourself — what a perfect sight 
you are! tramping around in the mud all this 
blessed afternoon, and then coming in on my 
clean carpets. And I had all the Sunday kind- 
lings to split, too, and water to bring, and 
everything. You ought to be ashamed of your- 
self.” 

“ I know I ought, my sweet-tempered sister, 
but nature has denied me the boon of that sen- 
sation. If I could be ashamed, I would, if 
only to reward you for manifesting such a 
meek, Christian spirit.” Then, as footsteps 
sounded in the hall, he leisurely helped him- 
self to another piece of cheese, and stood di- 
rectly in front of the blazing fire, causing his 
damp clothing to steam in a most unpleasant 
and forbidding manner. 


16 


An Hundred-Fold. 


Casting upon hina a perfectly furious look, 
Kate left the room to receive her guest. She 
had not enough self-control or deceit to enable 
her to wreath her lips in smiles when war was 
raging in her heart; so it was with an alto- 
gether annoyed countenance that she received 
him. However, Mr. Percival was a young 
man who was used to being extremely cheerful 
himself, and he did not seem to mind Kate’s 
rather dark looks, but sat down with Brownie 
on one knee and Mamie on the other, and made 
himself positively fascinating in the limited 
space of ten minutes. 

So sweet and genial was his influence, that 
when at last they were seated at the tea-table 
Kate felt better and the clouds which had dark- 
ened her face fled before the healthful sun- 
shine of her guest and his cheery conversation. 

‘‘And when have you heard from your father. 
Miss Katie?” asked the young minister during 
the course of the meal. “I trust he will be 
coming home soon. I am a little afraid his 
congregation will get tired of their supply.” 

“ I don’t think there is any danger,” she re- 
turned. “They seem well enough satisfied. 
Papa will not come while grandma needs him. 
He is all the son she has left, you know. Don’t, 
Ward!” as that young gentleman reached for 
the coffee-pot. 

“ Then will the angel of the household be 
so condescending and kind and all that’s un- 
common as to pour her erring brother another 
cup of nectar? I congratulate you upon your 
influence, Mr. Percival. Kate is always so 
sweet when you are here.” 


17 


The Belmont Family. 

“ That’ll do, Ward,” said Kate’s oldest brother 
kindly, trying to cover the girl’s evident embar- 
rassment. “It is just as Kate says, Mr. Perci- 
val ; papa feels that grandma will not live long, 
and he must devote himself to her while he 
can. He feels sorry that he has to leave his 
charge this way, but I know he is particularly 
well pleased with his substitute. This is good 
coffee. Ward. I don’t wonder you asked for a 
second cup. We are a little proud of Kate’s 
ability as a cook, Mr. Percival.” 

“You certainly have reason to be,” returned 
the young minister. “ How did you come out 
with that young Harris that you and I were so 
much interested in ? Did you get him to prom- 
ise to come into the Sabbath-school?” 

“He told me he would be there to-morrow 
without fail,” said Harold. “He will go in 
Ward’s class. I will see that he is duly intro- 
duced.” 

“Ward hasn’t got any class,” said that young 
man, rising from the table as he spoke. “He’s 
graduated.” 

“ Come to think of it, you were not there last 
Sunday,” said Mr. Percival. “What’s amiss?” 

“Other pressing engagements,” said Ward, 
going out and shutting the door after him. The 
next minute they heard the hall-door slam, and 
Harold said anxiously: “I do wonder where 
Ward goes to every night?” To which 
Brownie made answer, “Oh, over to Jud’s, I 
’spect.” 

At an early hour Mr. Percival retired to his 
room, pleading his Bible lesson and sermon as 
an excuse, and the children being safely tucked 


18 


An Hundred- Fold. 


away for the night, Harold and Kate were left 
alone. Then it was that he took from his 
pocket a letter, and handing it to his sister with 
an uneasy smile, said: “Kate, I couldn’t tell 
you before Mr. Percival, but I got a letter from 
father to-day.” 


CHAPTEE II. 


THE LETTER. 

“ \ L OU got a letter from father ! ” exclaimed 
I Kate, a jealous light creeping into her 
eyes. “Why, how’s that? he wrote to 
you the last time, and this time he should have 
written to me. I think you’re smart, anyway, 
sitting here the entire evening with a letter from 
father in your pocket, when you know how anx- 
ious I’ve been about him the whole week. As if 
Mr. Percival’s being here made any difference.” 

“It might make a very great difference 
just now,” returned Harold, looking troubled. 
“ There are some things a family likes to keep 
to themselves, and this is one of them. The 
letter is for all of us, of course, but it is ad- 
dressed to me, probably because it is something 
of a business letter. Anyway, there are some 
important items in it. Grandma is dead and 
buried, for one thing.” 

“I don’t see that we can make a secret of 
that,” said Kate, spitefully. “ There’s been no 
foul play about her death, or anything disgrace- 
ful, that you should keep people in the dark 
about it. I suppose he’ll be home pretty soon 
then,” rattling the sheets of letter paper a lit- 
tle savagely, as she opened them and made 
ready to read. 

“ Yes,” said Harold, with a sigh, “ now dear 
grandma is gone to her rest, there is really no- 
thing to keep him, except — ” 

19 


20 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“Except what,” asked Kate, suspiciously. 

Harold turned uneasily away. He did not 
seem to fancy meeting his sister’s eye. “Well,” 
said he at last, “there is a little matter which 
may detain him a while. The fact of the mat- 
ter is, Kate, he is not coming alone.” 

“Not coming alone!'''' repeated Kate in 
amazement. “Who in the world is there to 
come with him ? I don’t know of anybody.” 

“ Read the letter and see,” said Harold. 

“ I won’t do any such thing,” replied the ob- 
stinate girl, throwing the letter on the t^ble in 
a very bad temper. “You have just got to tell 
me now what it all means. Who is coming 
home with father? Who is there to come?” 

“Please excuse me, sister,” said the young 
man gently. “I do not want to tell you. I 
would much rather the letter should speak for 
itself. I am sorry now that I said one word.” 

“But as you did, you must go on with it,” 
persisted the inexorable girl. “I haven’t pa- 
tience to read anything now. Besides, it’s your 
letter, not mine,” with another jealous spark 
from her eye. 

“Well, then, if you will have it without one 
word of preparation, you must bear the conse- 
quences. The individuals who afe coming 
home with father are three in number, viz.: 
his wife and her two children, a girl and a boy. 
Now, you have the whole of it. And perhaps 
you will be good enough to understand why I 
didn’t care to have Percival around when the 
truth first broke upon you. I expected a scene, 
for I knew how it would make you feel.” 

For a moment the girl stood perfectly motion- 


The Letter, 


21 


less, gazing at her brother with a stony, be- 
wildered gaze, as if she had hardly compre- 
hended his statement; then, snatching up the 
letter she had thrown down in her heat, she 
cried out : “ It is untrue, every word of it, Har- 
old Belmont! Father marry again, and with- 
out letting me know a single thing about it 1 I 
never will believe it, though you take your sol- 
emn oath it is so.” 

A look of tender compassion swept over the 
fine face of her brother as he rose from his 
chair an.d wound an arm about the excited girl. 
“ I knew how it must go with you, Kate, dear,” 
said he ; “I knew it would cut you to the heart ; 
that it would wound you more deeply than any 
of us. But I must have you believe it. It is 
cruel to shut your eyes to the truth, however 
painful it may be. I assure you it is no false- 
hood ; no made-up story, no idle report. It is 
written there in black and white in our father’s 
well-known handwriting; and we cannot deny, 
Kate, that he has a perfect right to do exactly 
as he pleases. Let us begin by being reason- 
able ; let us try to be willing that this lady may 
be a blessing to us, and in some sense, as far as 
she can, let us be willing that she should fill 
our angel mother’s place.” 

Well as Harold knew his sister Kate, he was 
totally unprepared for the terrible result of his 
pacific words. She was angry before, but now 
she was in a rage. She could find no words in 
which to clothe her fury, but called her brother 
hard names, stamped her feet, shrieked, and 
even spat at him in her impotence. At last 
tears came to her relief, and she sobbed out : 


22 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“ I never would have believed it, Harold Bel- 
mont ! I never would have thought you would 
so soon have forgotten your own dear mother, 
and become willing, actually willing, that her 
place in this home should be filled by a 
stranger — an interloper, a mean, contemptible 
step-mother. I always did hate a step-mother, 
and I never will consent to her coming here ; 
that’s settled. It never shall be ! ” 

Harold smiled and bit his lip. “ My blessed 
sister,” he remonstrated, “do be reasonable. 
Take time to think the matter over, and you 
will see it very much as I do, I think. Besist- 
ance is worse than useless. It is not that I 
have ceased to love and honor the sacred mem- 
ory of our own precious mother, but that I un- 
derstand that father has an indisputable right 
to do as he likes, and it would be utter folly for 
me to raise the least objection. I do not want 
to give you the impression that I like this 
movement of his; that would not be true. I 
do not like it, but I can’t help it, and I might 
as well learn to bear it philosophically. Be- 
sides, dear sister, there is still another reason 
why we should not resent the coming home of 
our father’s second wife. Aside from such a 
course making everything disagreeable in the 
extreme, it would be very far from pleasing to 
our divine Master, and we are both his pro- 
fessed followers, you know.” 

“ The idea ! ” contemptuously exclaimed Kate. 
“I should hate religion if I thought as you do. 
The Lord Jesus Christ don’t expect any such 
things of us ; and I shan’t do it, anyway.” 

“Hoes not the Lord Jesus expect of us the 


The Letter, 


23 


fruits of his Spirit ? ” asked Harold, solemnly. 
“What are they, Kate, dear? Love, joy, 
peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, 
faith, meekness and temperance. Is there any- 
thing in that whole grand list to call for such a 
resolution as you have given voice to? Oh, 
dear sister, for J esus’ sake, for papa’s sake, for 
all our sakes, for your own, think twice before 
you determine on such a course of action.” 

“You needn’t waste your breath,” said Kate; 
“ I am of age ; I presume I can do as I please.” 

“Yery well,” said Harold; “suppose you 
read the letter ; it is getting late.” 

“ I’m in no hurry,” sullenly responded Kate. 
“ If that’s what’s in it I don’t care to read it.” 

“Let me read it to you, then,” said her 
brother, gently. “It is a good letter and a 
most affectionate one. I think it will make 
you feel better.” 


“ Dayton, November 5, 18 — . 

“My Deae Children: You will be much 
grieved, I know, to learn of your dear grand- 
ma’s death. She passed away on the Sabbath 
just at the dying of the day. It was a blessed 
release from the pain and constant suffering of 
many years. Her last hours abounded in ex- 
pressions the most fervent on the love of Christ. 
She gave the most beautiful evidence of an 
abundant entrance into the kingdom, and I 
would not bid her leave the glories of heaven 
for a continued residence on earth were it in 
my power to do so. She left many sweet mes- 
sages for you. I cannot commit them to writ- 
ing, but in some of our quiet, hallowed, twilight 


24 


An Hundred-Fold. 


hours I will try to tell you all the sweet things 
she said, and I know that you will hide them 
in the secret chambers of your hearts as some 
of the precious things to be remembered for- 
ever. 

“ I have not time for a lengthy letter this time, 
my dears, for I am kept very busy in settling 
up grandma’s affairs, and time presses; but I 
have something to communicate which cannot 
on any account be put off or laid aside. First, 
let me ask pardon for taking you so by sur- 
prise. I had not meant to do this, but circum- 
stances having hastened matters, I have been 
obliged to act without conferring with you. 

“About a year ago, while upon one of my 
frequent visits to your grandma, it was my pri- 
vilege to renew my acquaintance with an esti- 
mable lady whom I knew in my youth, and 
after much careful consideration and taking it 
to the Lord in prayer, I came to the conclusion 
to ask her to supply the place made vacant by 
your dear mother. She is a widow with two 
children, a girl of fourteen and a boy of ten. 
I have prevailed upon her to consent to a 
speedy marriage, as it has already been de- 
layed some time on account of mother’s long 
illness, and I am very anxious to get home 
once more and settled down to work in my own 
parish. We will probably be with you the 
latter part of next week. It is somewhat sud- 
den, to be sure, but I have so much confidence 
in Katie’s superior housekeeping that I have 
no fears as to the order of our reception. 

“ Mrs. Taylor’s daughter, Elinor, is, I regret 
to say, quite an invalid, being somewhat crip- 


The Letter, 


25 


pled in her left limb. She is, of course, dis- 
posed to be a trifle nervous, and I think, Kate, 
it will be necessary for you to let her have 
your room, as it is in the most quiet part of 
the house, and you can take the two little ones 
and occupy mine. You can put my bed in the 
sitting-room; it is a large room, and will do 
very well for the present. Our quarters will 
necessarily be pretty close, but we will all be 
glad to put up with it, I hope, for the blessing 
of having this dear mother at the head of the 
household. 

‘‘And now, I do not think it necessary for 
me to ask for a welcome to be given to these 
new relatives whom I am to bring home to you, 
is it ? They are all anxious to be mother, sister 
and brother to you, and I hope you will extend 
to them a cordial and a loving greeting. Kiss 
the little ones for me. And now adieu until 
we meet with open arms. 

“ Your father, 

“ Geokge Belmont.’* 


CHAPTEE III. 

THE STORM CONTINUES. 

H AEOLD laid the letter aside and sat 
very still, leaning his head wearily upon 
his hand, and watching his sister to see 
the result of the communication he had just 
read. 

He knew it was not in her nature to be 
patient with the unwelcome intelligence. There 
were several reasons why she, more than any 
other member of the household, should object 
to a second mother. 

In the first place, Kate was neither a large- 
hearted nor a warm-hearted individual. She 
had not room in her affections for many, there- 
fore she did not love many. But those whom 
she did love were regarded with a kind of 
passionate feeling which had in it more or less 
of selfishness. For instance, she felt that her 
father and brothers and little sister belonged 
exclusively to her. She rejected instinctively 
the idea that the world had a claim upon them. 
They were hers — her very own. She loved 
them : they needed no one else. Then she 
could not bear that the other children should 
be quite so much to her father as she was. 
Though she was too reserved and dignified to 
care for petting, still if there was a leisure hour 
to spare or a confidence to bestow, she ex- 
pected to be the chosen object of his attention. 
And perhaps he had spoiled her to some ex- 
26 


The Storm Continues. 


27 


tent ; it was natural he should, she being the 
oldest daughter, and with her abundant labors 
had done so well, making his home so comfort- 
able and caring for his motherless babies. 

Then we must remember that Kate had 
reigned as queen over her father’s household 
since the hour of her mother’s death, and no 
one, not even Ward, had disputed her sway for 
a moment. The children had yielded her as 
ready an obedience as they did their father. 
It would cost her such pangs as no tongue 
could tell to abdicate her sovereignty in favor 
of another. How could she bear to see a 
stranger come in and change everything, re- 
gardless of her wishes or feelings, and, sup- 
planting her in the affections of her father, and, 
it might be, the children also, make of lier a 
secondary consideration where she had been 
chief counsellor and friend. She pictured to 
herself how her father would forget her ; how, 
wrapped up in his new domestic interests, he 
would pass her by, and perhaps learn to love 
his wife’s children far better than his own. 
The thought was bitter. Perhaps if he had 
known of this bitter thought in time, he would 
have acted with more forethought and greater 
wisdom. Dr. Belmont loved his children 
dearly. He had been devoted to his first wife, 
and cherished her memory faithfully. But he 
was an occupied man, so filled with ministerial 
duties that he had little time to devote to the 
study of his own family. In the depths of his 
own heart he really believed that the marriage 
which he contemplated would prove the greatest 
of blessings to one and all. Was not Kate an 


28 


An Hundred- Fold. 


inexperienced young girl, and was she not 
loaded with the cares of a large household, 
when she needed to be free as a bird, to be 
able to obtain further education, and to engage 
with other young ladies of her age in society, in- 
stead of being tied at home all the time ? Then 
there were the children ; they needed a mother’s 
wisdom, and here was this Christian lady, full 
of the spirit of the Master, who would teach 
them what Kate had never yet had the means 
of learning, and give them what they had 
known very little of — a mother’s love. He 
hoped, too, that she would be a controlling in- 
fluence to his wayward boy. Ward, that child 
of many prayers, whom no one had ever under- 
stood and managed except the little mother 
who was now “asleep in Jesus.” Besides this, 
he felt the need of a help-meet in his own pecu- 
liar line of life ; one who not only had the in- 
tellect and the ability, but the Christian heart 
to sympathize with his labors in behalf of the 
church and its people. He had felt this need 
a very long time. In Mrs. Lucia Taylor he 
believed that he had found the person to sup- 
ply it in all its fulness. Her strong faith, her 
active spiritual life, her widespread, powerful 
influence, her brilliant mind, added to which 
was a most charming manner, all favored the 
belief that he had obtained the one who could, 
better than any other, help him in building up 
the church of Oakland, in whose present and 
eternal welfare he was devoted beyond any 
other earthly interest. 

It was not surprising, therefore, that being 
so well satisfied himself, he should have no 


The Storm Continues, 


29 


misgivings in regard to the feelings of the little 
family at home. It seemed to him that Kate 
must enjoy, like a natural and sensible girl, be- 
ing released from the tiresome treadmill of 
housekeeping cares, and also rejoice at the 
prospect of having another sister much nearer 
her own age than Mamie, and with these pleas- 
ant reflections the reverend gentleman hastened 
his preparations for his approaching marriage. 

For some time after the reading of the letter, 
Kate sat perfectly still, going over in her mind 
the great injustice of the injury done her ; and 
then, with a hard, determined look which made 
Harold’s heart sink within him, she arose from 
her chair, and deliberately began disrobing the 
room of all the pretty things with which her 
own and her mother’s hands had graced it — 
tidies, throws and table-scarfs were gathered 
into a little heap. ‘‘There!” she exclaimed, 
“if that is all my father cares for us, and what 
we have done for him, he shall never have any- 
thing that we have made to remind him of us.” 

“Kate, you are positively insane!” said her 
brother, springing to his feet. “ How can you 
carry matters so far and with so high a hand? 
You will regret this. Put everything back, my 
love, and sit down here on the sofa by me and 
talk it all over with your usual good common 
sense. For pity’s sake control yourself. Don’t 
scream out that way and talk so loud. Perci- 
val may hear you, and what will he think ? ” 

“ I do not care what he thinks ! ” replied the 
angry girl; but in spite of her assertion, she 
did lower her voice, and allowed Harold to 
draw her down upon the sofa. Then she went 


30 


An Hundred-Fold. 


on : “ How could he,” she said, beating the arm 
of the sofa with her clenched hand, as if it were 
the creature deserving of her wrath, and could 
feel each blow; “how could father treat me 
like this after I have worked so hard for him 
all these years, and tried my very best to make 
everything just as nice and home-like and 
pleasant, and just as near like mamma used to 
have it as I possibly could. It is the meanest 
thing I ever knew a father to do. I feel as 
though I should hate him for it all my life. 
That’s exactly what it will come to, Harold; I 
shall hate him, I shall abhor her, and I shall 
despise her children — the interlopers ! ” 

“O Kate,” interposed her brother, “will you 
never regard your words? Think how very im- 
portant it is that you should look at this matter 
in a proper light. Think of your influence over 
Ward and the children. It will be terrible for 
father to come home and find no welcome from 
any of you. I cannot endure the thought of 
such a state of things. Why not make the best 
of what you cannot help? His wife is a Chris- 
tian lady, and there is nothing wrong in his 
marrying again if he choose. As to hating 
your father, Kate, that is an absurd thing to 
say. So good as he has always been — so good 
as he has meant to be in this. The thing of 
it is, you love him too well to be able to give 
him up to another’s afifection and care. That 
is the way the case stands, dear sister. After 
the first shock has worn off, yau will feel very 
different, and in just trying to perform your 
Christian duty you will become reconciled to 
the Father’s will.” 


The Storm Continues. 


31 


“Oh! don’t talk so like a simpleton,” said 
Kate, with an angry stamp of her foot. “I 
don’t believe it is God’s will at all, and I 
wouldn’t try to like it if it was. If you’ve a 
mind to knuckle down and make the best of it, 
as you say, of course it is your privilege to do 
so, but I shan’t r I tell you, Harold, I will 
never endure it. They shall never come. This 
house shall never be that woman’s home. I 
will find some means to prevent it.” 

“But, Kate,” said her brother once more, 
“ you insist on ignoring the fact that this house 
belongs to father, and not to you or me.” 

“I don’t care if it does belong to him, it be- 
longs to his children too, and he has no right 
to give it to anybody else. Just only see how 
sly he has been. Never lets us know one thing 
of his intentions until just a day or two before- 
hand. There’s no time to fix things even if I 
was disposed to do it, and I’m not, of course. 
She can do her own fixing after she gets here.” 

Harold gave vent to a little relieved laugh. 
Kate was coming down. If she once began to 
think of her work it would set her all right. 
But the laugh seemed to hurt her afresh. She 
burst into a fiood of tears. 

“Papa never once thought of me,” she said, 
“and whether I should enjoy making sacrifices 
for them or not. The idea of my giving up my 
room to that girl Elinor. That pretty little 
room that mamma gave me for my very own.” 

“Papa’s is much the nicer apartment,” re- 
plied Harold, “and it will be very much more 
convenient for you. It has been no end of 
trouble for you to lug Mamie’s cot in every 


32 


An Hundred- Fold. 


night and set it up. You know you have often 
said so. Now you won’t have to do that any 
more. Papa’s room is plenty large enough to 
let it remain during the day. I shouldn’t worry 
about that. Father meant no slight to you, 
Kate. Men don’t think about these things like 
women do. But I think it -v^ll be rather incon- 
venient for him to have his sleeping-room in 
here,” and the young man looked around upon 
the dainty little apartment with a doleful visage. 

“That’s another thing!” burst out Kate, 
tempestuously. “ How is it going to look with 
a bed in the sitting-room ? ” 

Harold threw back his head and laughed 
again, and this time Kate laughed with him. 

“I don’t care!” she exclaimed, hysterically, 
“it’s no laughing matter. The idea of a great 
bed being stuck up here making everything 
look so common and mean. It’ll give every- 
thing else away in the room. Oh! dear, why 
couldn’t he have let well enough alone ? ” 
Harold sighed. “I wish he had,” he said. 
“ I really do, Kate ; and if he had but con- 
descended to ask my advice, I should have 
begged him to choose some one unencumbered 
with children. It seems to me that that is the 
most unpleasant feature in the whole case — the 
girl and boy. I am dubious how that will work. 
It is always a very difficult matter for a family 
composed of different elements to get along 
harmoniously. About the bed, Kate, couldn’t 
you fix that some way? ” 

Kate thought hard and painfully. It was 
such a trial for her to disarrange her well- 
arranged house. It was not a large one, and 


The Storm Continues. 


33 


there was, especially, a dearth of sleeping-rooms, 
but there was a small apartment opening out 
of her father’s study which had always been 
used as a kind of reception-room for transient 
callers, especially that kind of callers who 
desired a private conversation with Dr. Belmont. 
This apartment might,, perhaps, be utilized, and 
so she suggested to Harold. 

‘‘The very thing!” he exclaimed, exultantly. 

“ I suppose the parlor will be used common 
enough now,” said poor Kate, hopelessly. “ It 
seems, like sacrilege to me for strangers to make 
use of that room where she, our precious, 
precious mother, lay in her casket.” 

“ It is not,” said Harold. “ I think I loved 
mother very dearly, Kate, but I don’t feel 
about her as you do. Mother spent her sweet 
life in making people happy, and I cannot think 
she would object to her home being thrown 
open to the sunshine of human hearts. Per- 
haps in the light of heavenly wisdom she can 
look down and bless this union. At any rate, 
let me beg once more that we may act like our 
gentle mother’s children ; let us give them all a 
pleasant greeting home. Come, say it is a 
bargain.” 

Kate’s lip curled. “I would rather die this 
very minute,” said she. 

Just at this point in affairs, the hall-door 
swung violently upon its hinges, there was a 
shuffling of feet, and Ward entered the room. 


3 


CHAPTEK IV. 

HOW WARD LOOKED AT IT. 

THAT’S the row?” asked the intruder, 
YY throwing himself into the nearest 
chair and his leg over the arm. 
“ What has so disturbed the angel of the house- 
hold as to cause her to be desperate enough to 
try to drown herself in the briny deep of her 
own tears ? Has the adorable Percival trodden 
upon her toes and hurt her pet corn, or what 
has aroused the vials of her wrath? Speak, 
and let thy servant hear.” 

Harold answered by a quick, annoyed motion 
for his brother to forbear, but Kate, picking up 
the hated letter, flung it at him with the words: 
“Bead that and satisfy yourself to the full, you 
crazy thing. I have an idea you won’t take it 
any cooler than I have.” 

Ward’s bantering tone and look vanished 
completely as he recognized the familiar hand- 
writing, and it was with eagerness that he 
opened the letter and ran his eyes over the 
contents. Then a fierce, dark, evil look spread 
like an ominous cloud, in which are hidden the 
thunders and lightnings of nature’s wrath, over 
his face, something very muc^i like a curse burst 
from his lips, and he arose and struck the table 
a heavy blow with his fist. “As I am a Bel- 
mont,” he cried, “I am through with the gov- 
ernor of this ranch. He’s done for himself in 
my estimation. I consider that he has insulted 
34 


Hoio Ward Looked at It. 


35 


both the dead and the living. I’ll sever the 
bond that binds me to him if it takes a thou- 
sand years; and if I ever forgive him, may the 
Lord of heaven and earth never forgive me.” 

“There!” cried Kate, triumphantly; “what 
did I tell you ? I knew he’d never stand it ; I 
knew that he would look at them as inter- 
lopers, just as I do.” 

“You’re right,” he returned, his black eyes 
flashing dangerously; “you’re mighty right. 
And I shall try to create a tropical climate for 
them, too.” 

“Don’t you wish we could break it up some 
way?” said Kate. “Suppose we telegraph to 
papa to defer proceedings until he hears from 
us ; that will give us time to build up a perfect 
wall of objections.” 

“ Oh, you can’t do anything with him now,” 
sneered Ward. “There’s no fool so big as an 
old one, you know. It’s too late, chicken, to 
prevent the thing. The only comfort we can 
get out of the affair is to torment them like a 
certain individual who has a character for going 
about as a roaring, devouring lion. I think 
something like that would be exactly in my 
line.” 

“ What is the use in fighting it ? ” interposed 
the more pacific Harold. “ Of course, you 
must know that father has everything on his 
side. Law and gospel both uphold him. It is 
the height of folly for us to array ourselves 
against this thing. It will only make us per- 
fectly ridiculous, and give rise to a fiood of 
public scandal. If you will stop and think a 
minute, you will acknowledge that you do not 


36 


An Hundred-Fold. 


want to be town talk any more than myself. 
Go to work, now, and carry out such plans as 
you have indicated, and where will you be? 
You will speedily find that father will choose 
his wife before he will you, and you will be 
without an interest in the home. Then what 
follows? Neither of you have the remotest 
idea what it costs to take care of one’s self 
without the help of home and friends. You 
will find that the world is not a lap of luxury 
and a horn of plenty to the friendless and inex- 
perienced. It is much more like a rod of pun- 
ishment. Besides,” and Harold’s voice soft- 
ened to its accustomed gentleness, “we are not 
savages, but the children of Christian parents. 
Kate even goes higher, as I do; she claims, 
with me, to be a ‘child of the King.’” 

“There’s one thing that I am not liable to 
forget for a moment,” retorted Ward, “and that 
is, that I am the child of my mother. No one 
can ever take her place with me, and that any 
one should try the experiment is enough to set 
on fire the flames of vengeance forever.” 

“Ward — dear brother,” said Harold, entreat- 
ingly, linking an arm into that of the excited 
lad and walking with him up and down the 
room, “let me appeal to the good and noble 
side of your nature. Don’t wreck yourself and 
disappoint those who love you by any false 
notions of honor. Our mother was the gen- 
tlest, most peaceable little woman that ever 
lived. She would endure anything, sacrifice 
anything, rather than battle, even for her rights. 
Believe me, you can never honor her memory 
in the way you suggest any more than you can 


How Ward Looked at IL 


37 


that of the blessed Christ himself. It would 
grieve her inexpressibly to see yon like this. 
Calm yourself, my dear fellow, and stand by 
your father, even in what seems to be the mis- 
take of his life.” 

‘‘Do you mean to stand by him, Hal, in giv- 
ing another woman our mother’s place?” asked 
Ward, shoving back the long, abundant hair 
which had a trick of falling over his forehead; 
“I thought you loved our little mother too 
well ever to call any other woman by that 
sacred name.” 

A wave of intense suffering surged over the 
face of the elder brother, and the hand on the 
boy’s shoulder trembled visibly, but his voice 
was calm and unruffled as he replied: “I love 
her too well, yet. Ward, to turn against the man 
who was her dearest earthly friend. I will say 
to you as I said to Kate not an hour ago, that 
I regret this marriage ; but it is something which 
I cannot interfere with nor avert, and I made 
up my mind to bow to the inevitable. One 
thing I am resolved upon, and that is, that I 
will never, by any means, bring discord into 
the midst of our family circle. I will endure 
anything rather than do that. And if Kate and 
you will only consent to be of the same mind, 
everything will end all right. Let us trust our 
heavenly Father to bring it to a successful 
issue.” 

“ ^Tou don’t know me,” retorted Ward, with 
a scornful curl of his lip, “you are asking an 
impossibility.” 

“Yes, Harold, you are,” said Kate. “I feel 
just that way myself, and though, as you say, I 


38 


An Hundred-Fold. 


don’t see any way out of the trouble, that just 
makes it all the worse. I know I shall be mad 
from one week’s end to the other. I never can 
get over it, and what’s more, I am not going to 
try.” 

“Then there is just one more thing that I 
shall endeavor to do,” said Harold, firmly; “I 
dislike such a movement, but I think it is my 
duty to call in Mr. Percival and ask his advice. 
His influence shall at least be tried,” and with 
a quick step the young man left the room, leav- 
ing Ward and Kate staring at one another in 
perfect consternation. Punning up to Mi. Per- 
cival’s door, he tapped at it softly. 

“ Come in,” said the pleasant voice of the 
young minister. “Whenever anybody in this 
house wants to see me, just let that individual 
walk right in without a bit of ceremony, and he’ll 
find me all attention. Glad to see you, Harold. 
Sit down in that arm-chair, and give me some 
--pointers for my sermon.” 

“Thank you, I haven’t a moment to spare. I 
came up to see if you would step down stairs 
with me a few moments. The hour is late, I 
know, but — ” 

“Most assuredly,” replied his guest, laying 
aside his Bible and manuscript. ’Then, for the 
first time catching sight of his friend’s face, he 
exclaimed: “What is the trouble, brother? 
Has anything occurred to disturb you ? ” 

“I am sorry to say yes,” said Harold, in a 
tremulous voice. “Something quite serious. 
I am at a loss how to proceed,” and he rapidly 
rehearsed the evening’s excitement over the un- 
welcome letter. 


How Ward Looked at It. 39 

‘‘ I wasn’t looking for such stubborn resist- 
ance,” said he, in conclusion. “I knew that 
Kate would be angry for a time ; that is natural 
enough, but I had no idea but what it would 
blow over in a little bit, and we should be able 
to settle everything satisfactorily.” 

‘‘ I am glad that you came to me,” said Mr. 
Percival, reaching for his Bible. ‘‘ I will just 
take this friend and counsellor with me. I 
never like to go anywhere, especially on an 
errand for the Lord, without the word.” 

Ward was pacing the floor restlessly still, his 
arms folded tightly over his breast as if he 
would prevent his heart from giving forth any 
tender feeling even if it was disposed to do so, 
and his shaggy black hair falling over his fore- 
head. The fierceness of his countenance had 
not abated one jot, but had rather deepened 
into a fixed resolve. He paid no attention to 
Mr. Percival when he came in, but continued 
his restless march up and down the room 

Kate, on the contrary, who was standing by 
the window looking out into the stormy night, 
turned as he approached, and, coloring deeply, 
seated herself and made considerable effort to 
control her excited feelings. 

“I am so sorry,” said the young man, with 
Christian gentleness, to find you in such serious 
mental distress; but I feel sure you have not 
forgotten that there is a way to bear all these 
things, and that there is an almighty Friend 
always near to help you.” 

“ O Mr. Percival,” said Kate, “ I have borne 
so much, and this is just the drop too much. I 
cannot bear this, and I don’t think it is my duty 
to try.” 


40 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“I admit that the lessons of life are hard 
problems sometimes,” returned the young min- 
ister; ‘‘but I do believe that our great Teacher 
knows how to educate his pupils, and I don’t 
think it is good to find fault with his methods. 
Miss Kate. It may be that in the years to 
come you may be allowed to see why you had 
to study this page of domestic life.” 

“ Oh ! I can’t think that the Lord has any- 
thing to do with it,” said Kate, irritably. “ It 
has just come of itself to torment me.” 

“Do things come of themselves?” asked the 
young man, kindly. “It seems to me that 
either the spirit of good or the spirit of evil 
attends all the affairs of life, small and great. 
To the good we should learn to submit, toward 
the evil we should wear a conqueror’s soul; 
and we know, too, that our Father makes all 
things, the evil as well as the good, work to- 
gether for the best good of those who love him. 
I don’t believe I should allow myself to be tor- 
mented by this, Miss Kate. I believe I should 
make up my mind to be happy in spite of it. 
It can’t separate you from the love of Christ, 
and through his affection you can triumph over 
everything. Be patient; time will set these 
things right ; it always does. Time is the angel 
of God, and a great healer. Let us see what 
there is in the word of God to guide us,” and 
he opened his Bible and turning to the second 
chapter of Philippians, read the exhortation of 
the apostle to be of the lowly and unselfish 
mind of Christ. 

“Now,” said he, as he finished reading, “I 
don’t think it is necessary to multiply words. 


How Ward Looked at It, 


41 


You and Ward know what is right. You recog- 
nize the truth that there is for each of you a 
divine Helper who can make it easy for you to 
do right. Nothing is lacking, perhaps, but a 
consecrated will. Let us ask our blessed Jesus 
to give you that, shall we not? ” 

Ward did not kneel during the prayer, but 
he ceased his uneasy tramping up and down 
the room, and stood quietly and with some little 
show of respect; then, as soon as the petition 
came to a close, he seized his hat and leaving 
the room he opened the hall- door and walked 
out once more into the stormy night. 

With a bitter, desolate cry he wandered 
through the dismal streets, hurrying up one 
and down another, until at last he came to 
where the houses were few and far between, 
and just ahead there gleamed amid the dark- 
ness the cold white shafts of marble, and there 
soughed the weeping willows and sighing cedars 
which marked the “ city of the dead.” 

Into this silent, solemn place the boy crept, 
although the hour was now very late, and 
through its winding avenues he wandered, until, 
at last, he paused before a beautiful, well-kept 
lot with a single grave upon it, just discernible 
amid the murky darkness. A monument of the 
finest Italian marble reared its mnjestic column 
at the head, an urn with a snow-white dove 
upon it stood at the grave’s foot, and everything 
bespoke the utmost care and attention. For a 
moment the boy stood gazing through blinding 
tears, his whole frame shaking with strong 
emotion ; then, throwing himself upon the cold, 
damp grave ^vith outstretched arms, he cried 


42 


An Hundred- Fold. 


out in the bitterness of his heart: ‘‘Oh! 
mother, mother, if you could but come back to 
me I No one ever loved me like you ; no one ever 
understood me. You are all I ever had, and I 
never can, and I never will be, any other 
woman’s boy.” 


CHAPTER V. 

KATE^S FRIENDS ON ROSE STREET. 

K ate BELMONT was a Christian; at 
least, she was one in name. She was a 
member of the church in good standing, 
attended service regularly, and performed every 
outward duty with punctilious regard. But to 
her, religion w’as not living Christ daily, with 
an earnest desire to apprehend the mind that 
was in him, and so bring forth the “fruits of 
the Spirit.” It was to her much more like a 
dream than a reality. She had never looked at 
it as an armor with which she might defend 
herself in the battle of life, and resist the fiery 
darts of the old enemy of souls, but as simply 
something which she had grown up into, which 
she held as a sort of a birthright, and which 
she would not have parted with for anything. 
She was careful to see that the children learned 
their Bible verses, but when asked the meaning 
of them, she told them never to mind, they 
would probably understand enough about such 
things when they got large. She heard them say 
their prayers as a matter of course, but she 
never talked to them of the blessed Jesus, and 
how he had opened the kingdom to the chil- 
dren, and loved to take them in his arms when 
he lived upon the earth, and when they would 
have put some question to her, she hushed them 
at once. 

If she had only looked at Jesus as a familiar 
43 


44 


An Hundred-Fold. 


friend, to whom she could carry the burdens of 
her sorrows, she would not have done just as 
she did on Monday afternoon — hurried through 
her dinner work, and bundling Brownie into his 
overcoat and cap, locked the house door and 
hastened to 106 Eose street for consolation in 
this her time of trouble. 

The Eansoms were her special friends. They 
were old neighbors, and distant relatives of her 
mother’s. Kate had chosen a time when the 
children were all at school, except Lucy, a 
young lady of her own age, and as she ran up 
the steps and pulled the bell, she could see 
them cozily arranged about the sitting-room 
fire : Miss Sarah Bush at the sewing-machine, 
making it hum with all her accustomed energy, 
Mrs. Eansom putting finishing touches"on a new 
and very handsome dress, and Miss Lucy mak- 
ing buttonholes. 

Now, Miss Bush was a sister of Mrs. Ean- 
som’s. She was a tall, spare woman of thirty- 
five or thereabouts, very fond of her own opin- 
ion, and also fond of a bit of gossip occasion- 
ally. Lucy came to the door and gave Kate a 
warm welcome. “Where have you been keep- 
ing yourself ? ” she asked, giving her a kiss, and 
catching Brownie in her arms. “ I have been 
longing to see you for ever so long, but I haven’t 
had the first chance to run over on account of 
my new dress. Aunt Sarah has been making 
it. I guess we’ll get it finished to-day ; and it’s 
a beauty, too.” 

“Just as welcome as blossoms in May,” said 
good Mrs. Eansom as she went in, and Miss 
Sarah looked up and nodded. She had her 


Kate's Friends on Rose Street. 45 

mouth full of pins, and couldn’t be expected to 
do more. “ Bless the baby ! ” giving Brownie a 
hearty kiss, “his eyes get brighter and bluer 
every day. Bring Eddie’s little rocker in, Lucy, 
and set it close to the fire. We had to let the 
parlor fire go out to-day, because Steve has 
just let us run out of coal. He’s getting so he 
ain’t no man at all. If you take my advice, 
Kate, you’ll know when you’re well off, and 
stay single. You are fixed so nice with no one 
to bother you. Somebody said your grandma 
was dead. I presume your papa will be coming 
home soon now? ” 

“We expect him this week,” said Kate, with 
a little tremble in her voice. 

“I know you’ll be overjoyed to see him,” 
said Mrs. Hansom, “ he’s been away so much, 
and stayed so long this last time. I will be 
right glad to see the Doctor in his accustomed 
place in the pulpit Sunday, myself. Mr. Per- 
cival is all very well, but we’ve got so used to 
your father, it doesn’t seem right to see any one 
else standing in his place. Poor old Mrs. Bel- 
mont! Well, I’m glad there’s one more tired 
traveller safe at home.” 

Miss Sarah had by this time filled the little 
pin-cushion with the contents of her mouth, 
and immediately found voice to ask: “What’s 
the matter with you, Kate? You look as if 
you hadn’t a friend in the world.” 

“I feel a good deal that way,” said Kate, her 
eyes overflowing immediately. 

“Why, what has happened?” they asked 
unitedly. ‘‘Your father is well, isn’t he?” 

“ He’s going to bring home a nice, new mam- 


46 


An Hundred- Fold. 


ma,” spoke up Master Brownie, who had caught 
sundry fragments of conyersation at home, and 
with Mamie as interpreter had managed to un- 
derstand something to the eiffect that new mam- 
mas were extraordinarily nice to think about 
anyway. Harold had also encouraged the idea. 

“Is it possible, Kate?” began Mrs. Eansom. 

Kate nodded. “It is true,” she said, “he is 
going to bring a wife home with him. I am so 
angry about it I don’t know what to do.” 

“I don’t blame you a bit,” said Mrs. Hansom, 
emphatically. “I should think you would be. 
You poor child! Why, I wouldn’t have be- 
lieved it of the Doctor. There’s no more need 
of his getting married than there is of my 
Eddie. But that is the way with the men ; they 
are all alike. The idea 1 after all you have done 
to keep things together, too. It’s an awful 
shame, and I don’t blame you for feeling 
bad about it. If I was in your place, I be- 
lieve I should do worse than just feel bad, 
though. I’d be apt to set my foot down that it 
shouldn’t be, and if you did, I believe your 
father would give it up. He’s under big obli- 
gations to you, and he knows it. You may take 
my word for it, Kate, if he had to choose be- 
tween you, he’d never consent to give you 
up.” 

“Oh! I don’t know, Mrs. Hansom,” said 
Kate ; “ he don’t seem to think anything about 
me. It’s all his new wife and her two children. 
He has even asked me to give up my own 
pretty room that mamma had fixed up on pur- 
pose for me, to Elinor — that’s her girl. Of 
course the children have occupied it with me j 


Kate's Friends on Kose Street. 47 

that had to be; but it is all my own, and I 
can’t bear to give it up.” 

“My days!” exclaimed Mrs. Ransom, “you 
don’t mean to tell me, Kate Belmont, that the 
woman has a family ? ” 

“Two children, a girl of fourteen years and 
a boy of ten. I know I shall hate them, Mrs. 
Ransom. And I am quite resolved upon one 
thing : Mamie and Brownie shall have as little 
to do with them as possible. I’m not going to 
have any mixing up. Ill take care of my own 
mother’s children myself, and she shan’t touch 
them if I can help it.” 

“I don’t blame you,” said Mrs. Ransom. 
“ The idea of that blessed baby being knocked 
about by a strange woman! You don’t want 
her to come and whip you and shut you up 
in a closet, do you, lovey?”to Brownie, who 
sat looking on with eager eyes and open ears. 

The little fellow shook his curly head. 

“ Harry says she’ll be a nice mamma,” said 
he, stoutly, “ and maybe she’ll make dolls and 
f’annel horses for Mamie and me; and,” a little 
excitedly, “there are not one closet to shut me 
up in — not one!” 

“Is it possible that Harry is going to sur- 
render without even a struggle ? ” asked Lucy, 
indignantly. 

“ He says that he shall not interfere,” replied 
Kate. “He is one of your meek kind, and will 
make the best of it rather than have a fuss. 
Thank fortune, I am not like him.” 

“No, and I’m glad you’re not,” said Mrs. 
Ransom ; “ and if I were in your place, Kate, 
I’d just sit down and fold my hands, and let 


48 


An Hundred- Fold, 


that woman and her girl shoulder the work. 
I’d be the lady. I wouldn’t do a solitary thing. 
My days ! I do wonder what the church folks 
will say!” 

“Say!” replied Miss Bush, sticking pins in 
the windowcurtain, “I’ll tell you what they’ll 
say. They’ll say that its just like a man, that’s 
what ; and it is. ‘ Off with the old love, and on 
with the new.’ I’ve seen the signs for a good 
while, but of course I knew enough to hold my 
tongue. I reckon you won’t feel as if you had 
a home, now? I never knew two families to 
agree, yet.” 

“No, I don’t suppose that I will,” said Kate, 
hopelessly; “but really. Miss Sarah, I don’t 
know what to do.” 

“I tell you what I’d do,” said Miss Bush, 
resolutely; “I’d wash my hands of the whole 
set, swing loose and learn a trade, and be my 
own man. You can’t tell me anything about it. 
I know what second wives are. I’ve seen whole 
families of ’em. She’ll grudge you your victu- 
als, to say nothing of your clothes, and she’ll 
make your father see out of her eyes instead of 
his own. Just you mind, now, what I say.” 

“O Miss Sarah!” said Kate, in dismay, “if I 
were to do that, papa would never forgive me. 
He is so proud ; you don’t know. I believe his 
heart would break. I do wish I did know just 
what to do.” 

“If you’re sharp you won’t do anything,” 
pursued Miss Bush; “I wouldn’t. I’d undo 
instead. As to your father’s heart, I’d let that 
break, and be glad to see it fly to pieces. Has 
he considered your’s at all ? One wife’s enough 


Kate's Friends on Rose Street. 49 

for any man, and all the Lord intended he 
should have, or he’d have made Adam two or 
three while he was about it. That’s my opin- 
ion, if anybody wants it.” Miss Bush here 
emphasized her remarks with snipping her 
scissors vindictively in the air. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Ransom, “I don’t think I 
shall trouble myself to give the second Mrs. 
Belmont much of a welcome, and I don’t 
imagine the church will; and, of course, Kate, 
you can’t be expected to. If you treat them 
civilly, it is as much as any one could ask.” 

“Poor darling!” said Lucy, affectionately, 
following her to the door, as she hastily made 
ready to depart, for it was nearing four o’clock 
quite rapidly; “I am just as sorry for you as I 
can be, and if there is anything in the world 
that we can do to resent such ridiculous pro- 
ceedings, you may be sure we’ll do it. I shall 
let folks know just exactly what I think of it.” 

“I shouldn’t be afraid to venture that the 
church will have an indignation meeting in re- 
gard to it,” said Mrs. Ransom ; and Miss Bush 
called after her to “keep a stiff upper lip. 
Stand up for your rights,” said she, “ and don’t 
give an inch. Let ’em know what to depend 
on from the start, and it’ll save oceans of trou- 
ble.” 

Wrapping her cloak closely about her, and 
clasping little Brownie’s hand tighfcly in her 
own, Kate hurried toward home, feeling con- 
siderably fortified by the strong sympathy and 
advice of her three friends. She felt, more 
than ever, that it was necessary to be firm from 
the outset, and let the new-comers understand 


50 


An Hundred- Feld, 


that she was the protectress and defender of her 
dead mother’s children, and that she did not 
mean tha:t they should be imposed upon. “If 
only Harold would condescend to keep his 
tongue to himself,” she said to herself ; “ but I 
shall see to it that Mamie has a lesson in re- 
gard to the affair. The idea that he should set 
the children to believing that she is going to be 
rnceH and in her energy she crushed the baby s 
hand so that he cried out : “ Ouch ! Katie, you 
are breaking ev’y one of my bones.” 


CHAPTEK yi. 


MAMIE'S LESSON. 

D UKING the busy days which followed 
Kate’s heart lay heavy in her bosom. 
She did not feel more than half satisfied 
with herself after all, and though she went on 
and did exactly as she had intended to do, still 
the unacknowledged conviction that she was in 
the wrong forced itself upon her constantly and 
made her miserable. She gave up her room to 
Elinor, as she had been requested to do, but it 
was only the room she gave. She took good 
care to remove every article of furniture from 
it, together with all the pretty things that girls 
love, and with which it had always abounded, 
and searched the attic for old carpet with which 
to cover the floor, an infirm single bedstead, 
which had once belonged to Ward, a couple of 
half-worn cane-seated chairs, and an old chest 
of drawers, which she covered with a clean 
towel and made serve for a washstand also. 
Her own pretty bed-room set she then lugged up 
and stored away, and covered carefully from the 
dust with old sheets. She even took away the 
easy little rocker which had always been such 
a comfort to her, though she did not need it at 
all, and left nothing to adorn the perfect and 
almost severe cleanliness of the apartment and 
make the new sister feel that she was kindly 
thought of. Harold, looking in on his way to 
his own room, saw how it all was, and came 
61 


62 


An Hundred-Fold, 


home at night accompanied by a boy bearing a 
lovely willow rocker and a pair of handsome 
vases. Of course, Kate was furious, but Har- 
old could be determined once in a while him- 
self, and she was obliged to see the dingy room 
brightened by these small additions to its com- 
fort. She dared not trifle so much with the 
room intended for her father and his wife, and 
though she took care to remove everything 
that she and her mother had made, they were 
replaced in a measure, and the effect, though 
severe in its plainness, was handsome. When 
everything was ready, all was as neat and clean 
as a new pin, for Kate could not do less than 
this; she would have done violence to her na- 
ture otherwise ; but it was all so bare, so unlike 
its natural self, that it was almost like going 
into another house. 

It was the day the bridal party was expected. 
Kate had kept Mamie home all the week from 
school to help her with the extra work she had 
accomplished. Everything was done now, even 
to the supper being prepared almost entirely, 
(and we will mention that it was a very plain 
affair), and Kate was ready to dress the chil- 
dren. 

“You may bring your plaid dress, Mamie, 
and Brownie will do well enough with a clean 
apron. Get one of his blue and white gingham 
ones out of the lower bureau drawer,” said she, 
bringing a basin of water into the room and 
beginning to brush out the little boy’s shining 
curls. 

“I should think I ought to wear my best 
dress to-day, Kate,” said the little girl, discon- 


Mamie's Lesson, 


53 


tentedly. “And Brownie ought to wear his 
new blue suit. Papa likes us to be dressed up.” 

“It is not at all necessary for you to think 
anything about it,” replied Kate, coldly. “Any- 
way, it makes no difference. Bring the plaid, 
and hush.” 

“ But, Kate,” insisted the child, coming slowly 
with the dress and apron, “this plaid is just my 
school dress, and it has all faded so hateful, 
and those folks wont like me in it.” 

“ It doesn’t at all matter about the folks,” re- 
turned Kate, snatching the dress out of her 
hand, and slipping it on without more ado. 
“I don’t want them to like you.” 

“Why?” asked poor Mamie, with trembhng 
lip. “ Harold said they would, and he said I 
was to love them, and call the lady mamma. I 
think it will be real nice, Kate.” 

“You have no business to think anything 
about it,” said Kate, red with anger; “and you 
must pay attention to what I say, and not 
Harold. You are expected to mind me, not 
him. Now you sit down there in Brownie’s 
little chair while I finish his hair. I have some- 
thing to say to you. Do you remember our 
mother, Mamie?” 

“ Of course I do,” replied Mamie, much in- 
terested; “just as well as can be. She had 
such lovely blue eyes, and it seemed as if they 
were so full of the most beautiful something I 
ever saw ; and she used to hold Brownie and 
me both at one time in her lap, and tell us 
stories and sing this song, Kate; do you re- 
member? 

‘ Shall we meet beyond the river, 

Where the surges cease to roll?* 


54 


An Hundred-Fold, 


Ward hums it to himself sometimes, yet. I 
don’t believe I ever could forget her, Kate — 
ever in the world.” 

should hope not,” said Kate, emphatic- 
ally, “and I want you to recollect, Mamie, just 
what I told you the other day, that it is simply 
impossible for you, or any of us, to have another 
mother. There is only one real mother for any 
child ; and when these folks come, you are to 
remember that they are nothing to you, no 
matter what they say or do. Just keep to your- 
self, and let them alone ; that’s what I want you 
to do.” 

“ But Harold says,” began the little girl, but 
Kate interrupted her at once. 

“Never mind what Harold says; just pay at- 
tention to what I say. Father’s new wife is 
not your mother, and nothing can ever make 
her so ; and the girl and boy are not and never 
can be your brother and sister; and you are 
not to think of them as such or call them so. I 
hope you understand. It seems to me, Mamie, 
that you are terribly dull.” 

“But, Kate,” said Mamie, “what if papa tells 
me and Brownie to call her mamma, you know? 
Maybe he will, and we will have to do what he 
says, won’t we?” 

“You needn’t go to ‘what-iffing’ anything 
about it,” replied Kate, out of all patience. 
“All you have to do is to pay attention to me 
and behave yourself ; that’s all I ask of you. 
But you may as well know, first as last, that I 
don’t intend to have any mixing up. Now, do 
you understand ? ” 

“Yes’m,” 


Mamies Lesson, 


55 


“When you want anything you are to come 
to me, and not to her. I shall take care of your 
clothes and everything just the same as ever, 
and you are never to ask any one of them to 
do the smallest thing for you. Now, do you 
understand?” 

“Yes’m.” 

“Brownie will do just as you do, of course,” 
cautioned Kate, buttoning up the little boy’s 
clean gingham apron. “You know he always 
has, so you must be careful to attend to what I 
say, and he’ll be sure to do all right. Now, 
to-night when they come, you just sit still over 
there in the corner until father speaks to you. 
Then if he tells you to shake hands with the 
folks, I suppose you will have to; but you 
needn’t say anything, and you needn’t hang 
round and try to act smart. Just keep still 
and they’ll let you alone. Now, do you under- 
stand? ” 

“Yes’m.” 

“Go over there, then, and sit down, and 
whatever you do, don’t get up and go tramping 
about from room to room. Here’s a book with 
pictures in it ; you may show them to Brownie, 
if you have a mind,” and, having finished her 
instructions, Kate betook herself to her room, 
and putting on one of her commonest dresses, 
returned to the sitting-room with a little skirt 
of Brownie’s which she was making beautiful 
with embroidery. 


CHAPTEE YII. 


THE HOME-COMING. 

H ALE-PAST five. The depot at Oakland 
was crowded wdth people awaiting the 
approach of No. 31. A long line of 
hacks were drawn np along the platform ready 
for the coming passengers; the baggage-men 
were running with their trucks, and the restless 
travellers lounged about in the waiting-rooms, 
impatiently awaiting the iron horse which was 
to carry them on their way. Just as the whistle 
sounded out upon the air loud and shrill, a 
carriage drove up hastily, and Harold Belmont 
sprang out upon the platform. “Drive up as 
near as you can,” said he to the driver, “so 
the ladies will not be obliged to step in the 
wet;” for it had been raining dismally most of 
the afternoon and the streets were flooded. 
Having given this direction, the young man 
buttoned his overcoat more closely about his 
throat and walked rapidly forward to meet the 
incoming train. 

It rolled leisurely into the depot and stopped, 
puffing and blowing as if out of breath with its 
hard run, and the crowd began pouring out of 
the cars, some running immediatety for the 
dining-hall, others marshalling their company 
to the waiting hackmen whose deafening cries 
rent the air, while others marched off inde- 
pendently, loaded with boxes and bundles, 
56 


The Home- Coming, 57 

willing to walk a few blocks and save their 
hard-earned money. 

In the very midst of this motley throng ap- 
peared a tall gentleman with fine dark eyes and 
pleasant countenance. He wore a heavy beard 
and moustache, and his bearing was courteous 
in the extreme as he gently piloted the lady on 
his arm safely through the crowd and landed 
her upon the platform, then turned to assist a 
delicate-looking girl who was slowly making 
her way across the intervening tracks with a 
crutch, supported by a bright little fellow of 
about ten years of age. 

“ There we are,” said the gentleman, brightly, 
as they reached the lady’s side in safety ; “ as 
snug as a package of dress-goods. Not a bone 
of us broken nor a hair out of place. The 
next thing is to look for ways and means to 
get home. I wish I had thought to telegraph 
for a private carriage to be in waiting; these 
hacks are mostly overloaded, and there is more 
crowd than usual at the depot to-night. I 
wonder what the attraction is.” 

Just at this moment Harold stepped forward. 
“Father, I have brought a carriage v/ith me. 
I am so glad to see you home once more,” 
holding out his hand, which his father took in 
a warm, loving clasp. Then raising his hat 
politely, he said: “This is not a very good 
place for introductions, but I presume this is 
Mrs. Belmont?” 

“This is the new mother,” replied his father 
proudly, “and this is a good little sister I have 
brought you, and a brother who will be able, I 
dare say, to help you cut up all sorts of pranks 


68 


An Hundred-Fold. 


during the long winter evenings. You have 
heard me speak of Harold, Lucia, my oldest 
son? It is good to see you again, my boy, and 
so good to get heme. It was very thoughtful 
of you to bring a private carriage, son. Let us 
get to it immediately, please.” 

“It is at the east end,” said Harold, offering 
his arm to the little lame lady; “this way, 
please,” and as fast as circumstances would 
permit he guided them to the carriage. 

Harold noticed with a twinge of pain as his 
father sank back among the cushions and gave 
vent to a little relieved sigh, that he was as 
happy as a child to get home again. “Poor 
father,” he thought, “ how his kind heart will 
sink, and how disappointed he will be, when he 
gets home and sees things as they are ; ” but 
he chatted away with him pleasantly, answer- 
ing all his many questions in regard to the 
other children, as to how he was getting on at 
the store, about Mr. Percival’s preaching, and 
how the church regarded his ministrations, as 
if his own heart was beating lightly and buoy- 
antly in his bosom instead of lying there the 
dull, aching, spiritless thing it really was. 

“ By-the-way, Harold, what did the unusual 
crowd at the depot mean to-night?” asked his 
father, after they had ridden a block or two. 
“Is there anything going on of special moment 
in town?” 

“Percival is to lecture before the Young 
Men’s Christian Association,” replied Harold. 
“ He has awakened a great interest in the young 
men since he has been here, and in the sur- 
rounding towns also, and I suppose there was 


The Home-Coming, 59 

a host of his admirers coming in to hear him. 
He is very popular.” 

“And deservedly so,” said Mr. Belmont, 
heartily. “I am glad that he graduates next 
year. He will be ordained at once, then, and 
we shall have him in the lists. I predict for 
that young man a splendid future. But there, 
at last, are the lights twinkling like so many 
stars in our own comfortable little home. I 
suppose Kate has made a great spread for us; 
I meant to caution her about exerting herself 
unnecessarily. A quiet home-coming with a 
loving welcome is all we ask.” 

“I hope,” said Mrs. Belmont, speaking for 
the first time since receiving the introduction, 
and her voice was peculiarly soft and gentle, 
“that you have thought of us as simply mem- 
bers of the home circle, coming to enjoy with 
you the home comforts and home blessings, 
and not as guests to be royally entertained. I 
should be very sorry if your sister should have 
felt it necessary to exert herself beyond her 
strength. The carriage is stopping. Is this 
home? ” 

“ Yes, madam,” said he, as the driver rolled 
off his seat and threw open the carriage-door, 
“this is home. Will you permit me?” and, 
jumping lightly out, he gave the lady his gloved 
hand. 

As he opened the hall-door and conducted 
the new arrivals into the brilliantly-lighted 
hall, he felt a heavy sense of disappointment 
that Kate was not there on the threshold to 
receive them ; but the parlor-door stood invit- 
ingly open, and there was a glorious fire in the 


60 


An Hundred-Fold. 


grate, and Ward was there — that almost com- 
pensated for Kate’s absence — and the children 
were seated cozily in a corner of the sofa. 

Mr. Belmont’s voice rang out brightly and 
cheerily: “Ah! this looks good, doesn’t it, Lu- 
cia? I’ll throw off my Overcoat right here in 
the hall, I guess, before I go in. Ha! here is 
Kate,” as that young lady entered the hall 
from the sitting-room, where she had been on 
some trifling errand, her face as colorless as 
marble. 

Mr. Belmont advanced quickly to the young 
girl’s side, and with a much- concerned face. 
“Daughter, Katie,” said he, “is there anything 
wrong? You look ill,” and he drew her to him 
and kissed her tenderly. 

“Kate hasn’t been quite herself for several 
days,” said Harold, in haste to say something 
that would account for her unnatural behavior. 

“ My dear,” said her father, still holding her 
closely by the hand, “ this is my wife. I trust 
that you will And in her a very dear mother; 
and, Lucia, you see in this dear girl of mine 
one of my greatest comforts and treasures, I 
am anxious that you should be much to each 
other.” 

Mrs. Belmont extended her hand with a few 
well-chosen words and a most sweet and win- 
ning smile ; but Kate merely touched the hand, 
then dropped it, and, receiving the introduction 
to Elinor and little Clyde in the same cold, in- 
different manner, led the way proudly into the 
parlor. 

“Well, Ward, my boy, are you glad to see 
papa again?” asked Mr. Belmont of the lad 


The Home-Coming. 61 

who sat in the chair, book in hand. “I am 
quite a stranger in my own house, am I not? 
Come, give us an old-time greeting. I declare, 
if I were to stay away much longer, I fear that 
I should be forgotten.” With that he patted 
the boy merrily on the back, and, stooping over 
him, gave him a fatherly kiss. “So much for 
feeling too big to run and meet me as you used 
to do,” said he; then to Iiis wife : “You’ll know 
this is Ward, at a glance. And now, where are 
the little ones? Over there in the corner? 
What’s that for? Surely they are not afraid 
of papa. Come here, my darlings, and kiss me. 
Papa is hungry for a good look at his two little 
midgets; and this new mamma and sister and 
brother I have brought to you, all want to get 
acquainted. My ! oh, my ! ” as they shyly sidled 
up to him, hanging their heads guiltily and 
stealing anxious looks at Kate, who stood look- 
ing at them, “this will never do. Look at my 
pretty rosebuds, Lucia. Are they not rare 
blossoms ? ” 

For answer, the new mother stooped and 
gathered both timid children into her arms, 
and kissed them with a sweetness that thrilled 
them to the very centre of their trembling little 
hearts. They were going to slip back into their 
corner again, but papa threw around them a 
detaining arm, saying, in his bright, animated 
way: “No, sir; no, sir; you are not going to 
cultivate bashfulness with papa ; here are your 
places, my darlings — one on each knee;” and 
he drew them fondly upon his lap. 

Harold had not been idle al] this time. He 
had brought forward the easiest chairs, stirred 


62 


An Hundred -Fold, 


the fire, helped Master Clyde oflT with his over- 
coat, and Elinor with her cloak and furs; and 
now he stood quietly and politely by, while 
Kate escaped to the dining-room, trying to set 
them all at their ease, and keeping up a run- 
ning conversation with one and all. 

“Let’s see — what’s your name?” said he to 
the little boy. “Oh, yes, Clyde, to be sure. 
Suppose you sit on the other side of father, 
Clyde, That’s a good, warm comer, and you 
can put in your time getting acquainted with 
Mamie and Brownie. Your sister can have 
this rocker, then, right in front of the grate. It 
is very frosty to-night, I think ; such a biting 
atmosphere. Now, then, Nellie — is that what 
your mamma calls you? Nellie is a favorite 
name of mine. And, mother” — he said it 
bravely, though it almost choked him ; but the 
grateful look his father gave him more than re- 
paid him for the effort — “ take this arm-chair ; 
'the one you have there is a very uncomfortable 
one, I can say for Kate that tea will soon be 
ready.’ 

In fact, it was quite ready, and waiting ; and 
as soon as the travellers were thoroughly warm, 
they passed into the dining-room, in response 
to the bell, and gathered about the table. 

“Would you be so kind as to keep your old 
place at the table and serve the tea for me this 
evening, my dear?” said Mrs. Belmont to Kate, 
as she stood aside to give the new mistress the 
seat of honor. 

Kate merely bowed, and sat down behind 
the te aboard without a word. 

A look of surprise Bwept for a moment over 


The Home-Coming. 


63 


the face of Mr. Belmont, as his eyes fell upon 
the plainly-spread table, with its cold meat, 
bread, butter, apple-sauce, and cookies, and 
failed to find the many delicacies for which 
Kate was famous; but the next moment he had 
bowed his head and was pouring out as hearty 
and fervent a thanksgiving as his manly soul 
had ever offered to his Father in heaven. 

The meal, in spite of Kate’s and Ward’s al- 
most perfect silence, passed off nicely; for 
Harold and his father, determined not to be 
cast down, found plenty to talk about, Mrs. 
Belmont joining in with cheerful heartiness, 
while Mamie and Brownie, having grown very 
bold by sitting on papa’s knee, had several re 
marks to make on certain subjects of special 
interest to themselves. Brownie even went so 
far as to smile slyly at the new mamma, behind 
his mug of milk. As for W ard, as soon as he 
had swallowed his supper, he slipped out of 
the house and took his way down street. 


CHAPTEB VIIL 

WHAT SHALL WE DO? 

A t last the evening was over, and Kate 
piloted the delicate Elinor to her sleeping- 
room. There was a painful quiver around 
the mouth of the young girl as she kissed her 
mother and stepfather good-night, which might 
have broken out into tears had not Harold in- 
sisted upon giving her his arm up the stairs, 
and in leaving her at her door bade her a 
pleasant and kindly good-night. This helped 
matters wonderfully, and when Kate set the 
lamp down on the table with a little thump, 
which was capable of meaning a great many 
things, she found it quite possible to turn to 
her new-found relative and say affectionately: 
“Thank you so much, sister Katie, for taking 
such pains to light me up. I am such a poor 
hand to get about by myself that it is a little 
difficult to carry a lamp. Clydie generally at- 
tends me to my room, but it is so nice to have 
a sister. I have always so longed for one ! ” 
“Will you want any more coal? ” asked Kate, 
in her usual business-like way, “ because if you 
do, Harold can bring some up at once.” 

“ Oh, no, thank you,” replied Elinor, brightly. 
“It is very nice and warm here, and I shall 
not be long to-night ; only long enough to read 
my chapter.” 

Her chapter! What could the girl mean? 
Was it possible that she made a point of read- 
64 


What Shall We Do ? 


65 


ing her Bible every night ? In spite of herself, 
Kate’s natural curiosity led her to remain in 
the room until the young girl had opened her 
little travelling bag and taken from it a copy of 
the precious book. Nellie, seeing her hesitate, 
smiled upon her with the words: ‘‘Would you 
like to read with me? I should enjoy it so 
much. This is the time I miss mamma more 
than any other, for she has always made one 
with me in my nightly readings of the word. 
Have you a favorite chapter ? ” offering her the 
book. 

Kate flushed scarlet and turned abruptly 
away. “I do not care to read,” said she, 
coldly. “I believe I have a Bible of my own 
somewhere about the house that I can use if 
so disposed,” and she turned to leave the room. 

“Then, will you — would you kiss me good- 
night?” asked the home-sick little girl, her 
sweet, spiritual face alight with good-will such 
as angels know. 

“I don’t kiss, said Kate, shortly; then, 
pausing with her hand on the door, she said, 
“If you should want more cover there is a 
heavy blanket on the lower shelf of your ward- 
rode,” saying which she left the room. 

“The idea!” she exclaimed, as she wended 
her way to her own room. “‘Sister Katie,’ 
indeed! I think she is pretty fast if I know 
anything about it. She’ll soon be very apt to 
understand that I don’t consider her a sister of 
mine. ‘Kiss me!’ Did you ever? When I 
kiss her I rather guess she’ll know it. ‘ Bead a 
chapter with her!’ I wonder what next! It 
looks very much as if she had an idea that all 

5 


66 


An Hundred-Fold, 


in the world she has to do is to tell me to do 
this or that, and I’ll be perfectly delighted to 
do it. She will probably find she has some- 
thing besides pntty to handle.” 

In spite of all this, Kate had an unformed 
wish in her heart that she had left some of the 
pieces of furniture in poor Nellie’s room, and 
was secretly glad that the wardrobe was built 
into the house and not movable, and that 
Harold had bought the willow rocker and the 
vases for the mantel. 

Mamie was wide awake when she entered the 
room, though she was lying very still, so as not 
to disturb Brownie, who, nestled amid the cloud 
of golden curls, was lost in sweet slumber ; but 
her wide-open eyes followed her sister about 
the room as she was preparing for the night, 
and a timid little sigh burst from her burdened 
little soul, immediately attracting Kate’s at- 
tention. She came at once to the bedside and 
looked down on the little girl questioningly. 

“What’s the matter with you, Mamie? ” she 
asked sharply. “Why are you not asleep? 
What have you been about all this time ? ” 

“ Nothing,” responded the little girl. 

“What do you mean by nothing?” persisted 
Kate. “Come, I know there is something back 
of all this. You always go to sleep as soon as 
your head touches the pillow.” 

“Nothing but thinking,” said the child. 

“ People go to bed to sleep, not to think,” 
said Kate severely. “ What were you thinking 
about?” 

“Nothing much.” 

“That’s no way to answer me, Mamie. I 


What Shall We Do 


67 


want you to tell me tlie truth about it. What 
were you thinking so busily about as to keep 
wide awake like this ? ” 

“ Why,” began Mamie slowly and hesitating- 
ly, “I was just thinking how pretty and nice 
they all are, you know, and I was wishing that 
you would let me like them a little bit. Seem’s 
as if I can’t hardly help liking them some. 
Why can’t I, Kate ? ” 

“Because it is not at all proper that you 
should,” replied the elder sister, shortly. “I 
am really surprised at you, Mamie. After what 
I told you this very day, I don’t think you 
need anything more.” 

“Doesn’t God want me to love them, Kate?” 
asked the little girl, rising on her elbow and 
looking her sister earnestly in the face. 

“ It doesn’t matter anything about that,” said 
Kate, much irritated. “You are too young, 
Mamie, to understand about such things. Lie 
right down, now, and go to sleep at once. The 
idea of such foolishness!” with which remark 
Kate turned out the lamp, and with a much 
perturbed spirit sought her pillow. 

A single bedstead had been put in the boys’ 
room for Clyde, and the little fellow was fast 
asleep, and Harold himself was thinking seri- 
ously of retiring, when Ward came shuffling in. 
He glowered at the sleeping boy, and then at 
the knee-pants and jaunty blouse waist, with its 
trimming of gold braid, hanging on the bed- 
post. 

“Wasn’t there any other place for that kid 
than in here with us?” he asked sullenly. 
“ How can you stand it, Hal ? ” 


68 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“One can learn to bear almost anything,” 
said Harold, cheerfully “ Isn’t he a pretty fel- 
low, Ward?” 

“Pretty enough for those who profess to have 
a fondness for him,” said Ward, pulling off his 
shoes with a grimace, “but as I don’t profess 
anything of the sort, he appears to mo to be 
possessed of an extraordinarily ugly phiz, which 
I should take unalloyed delight in disfiguring.” 

“ You can find it in your kind boy’s heart to 
be at least civil to the little fellow, can you 
not?” said Harold, entreatingly. 

“ I’ll be so civil as to read him certain por- 
tions of the law if he trespasses on my territory. 
Young Taylor and I are not likely to be bosom 
friends, Hal.” 

“May I ask where you have been all the 
evening, Ward?” said Harold, changing the 
subject. 

“You may, my respected brother and august 
friend,” replied Ward. “It is a free country, 
and questions are in order any time. Go 
ahead.” 

“You have not answered question number 
one yet, Ward.” 

“Oh! answering is quite another thing,” 
said Ward, wickedly. “It is optional with me 
whether I answer or no. My goings and com- 
ings might not affect you agreeably; in fact, 
they might rob you of your hard-earned rest, 
and that would be bad.” 

“Ward, you are young to be living on the 
street, it seems to me.” 

“Am I? Who cares where I live or how 
soon I get to the end of the line?” said the 


What Shall IVe Do f 


69 


boy, recklessly, tossing liis necktie toward the 
dresser but not on it. “ The best thing I can 
do is to ruin myself as fast as possible and get 
out of the way. It is altogether likely I will 
be unfortunate enough to remind the new lady 
of her predecessor and conduce to family jars. 
I’m ready to blow out the light, Hal, if you are. 
Oh! yes; I forget your devotions,” as his 
brother took up his Bible. “Pray for me if 
you have time,” and so saying he went to bed. 

Harold sighed. “If only you were serious 
about that wish,” he said, “I should feel far 
more peaceful about you than I do;” over 
which remark Ward groaned dismally but did 
not otherwise reply. 

Meanwhile the newly-made husband and 
wife still sat before the parlor fire. They did 
not seem inclined to converse, but sat very 
quietly thinking. There was a sorry, even a 
troubled look upon the pleasant face of the 
minister, and he sighed uneasily several times 
as if his heart was burdened, and the head 
leaning upon the shapely hand seemed bowed 
with grief. 

“ Boes God ever make mistakes, do you 
think, George?” asked his wife, laying a gentle 
hand on the bowed head. 

“ No, my love, never,” said Mr. Belmont, 
looking up from his reverie with a flash of his 
usual sunny smile. “Why such a question?” 

“Because there are tears at the very begin- 
ning, George ; tears in your eyes and my own, 
though we neither of us intend to let them fall. 
Our home-coming isn’t just exactly in all points 
what we desired it to be, and our hearts begin 


70 


An Hundred-Fold, 


to fear lest our marriage be a grand mistake ; 
and yet God joined us together, George, so the 
marriage service said.” 

“ My dear,” said the minister, “ I had not in- 
tended to mention it to you — I didn’t know 
that you had seen — but our marriage was no 
mistake, my love ; I have not managed as wisely 
as I might, that is all.” 

“I am not cast down,” said Mrs. Belmont, 
cheerfully. “ I am not to be destroyed, George. 
I am not even disappointed. I expected rather 
a frosty welcome. It is natural that your 
children should feel that their mother’s place 
could never be filled. I have a generous sort 
of sympathy for that kind of feeling. I like 
them for it. I never expect to fill the vacancy 
to them ; but I intend to be their friend, and 
I think after a while they will consent to 
that.” 

“ O Lucia,” and there was a world of tender 
pity in his voice, “how can you? You surely 
had not looked for this?” 

“Not exactly this,” replied his wife, softly; 
“ and yet, as I said, I am not in reality disap- 
pointed. I did not marry you, knowing you to 
be the father of five children, without taking 
their likes and dislikes into consideration. Of 
course, I understood perfectly how stepmothers 
are generally regarded; how they are nearly 
always an object of aversion; and I made up 
my mind to endure a great deal. I confess the 
temptation has come to me more than once this 
evening that it was possible that we had been 
mistaken in uniting our families, but as they 
are now united it is better to believe that it is 


Shall We Do f 


71 


all right and act accordingly. The harvest 
would be a poor one without some dark and 
rainy days, and even a cloud-burst once in a 
while. I do beg, George, that you won’t vex 
your righteous soul about me'" 

“Darling, Kate has broken my heart,” said 
Mr. Belmont, brokenly. 

“Oh, no, not broken; wounded, terribly 
hurt, but never broken. A heart stayed on the 
Rock eternal cannot break. I admit that Kate 
seems to be quite a lion in my pathway, but I 
don’t doubt we shall find her perfectly harm- 
less. Oh! don’t let us mind these things, 
George. The God of Israel is just the same 
to-day as he ever was, and the watchword he 
has given to his people is, ‘Go forward!’” 

“God bless you, my dear; your words are 
inspiring. I will try to cultivate your admir- 
able faith and rest upon the promises. But I 
am at a loss to know how to proceed — what is 
best to do. I never dreamed that there would 
be the least objection among the children to 
any movement that I wished to make. I see 
now that I have quite forgotten how the years 
have slipped away, and my boys and girls are 
beginning to feel the breath of their coming 
manhood and womanhood. Lucia, what shall 
we do ? What course is right to pursue ? What 
is the wisest, most God-like and best ? ” 

“‘Cast thy burden upon the Lord and he 
shall sustain thee.’ Perhaps as we are in 
doubt just what path to take, it would be just 
as well to take the whole matter to the Lord in 
prayer and ask him to guide us in the right 
way. Then mistakes will not be possible. 


72 


An Hundred-told. 


‘Lead, Kindly Light.’ Shall we not take our 
Father’s hand? ’ 

“ How could I forget the everlasting arms,” 
said Mr. Belmont, reaching- for his Bible. 
Then, opening at the forty-sixth psalm, they 
read together : “ God is our refuge and strength, 
a very present help in time of trouble,” and as 
they reread the last verse : “The Lord of hosts 
is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge,” 
they looked at each other with a triumphant 
smile, and Mrs. Belmont said, with a clear ring 
to her voice: “‘They that sow in tears shall 
reap in joy; and he that goeth forth and weep- 
eth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come 
again rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.’ ” 

“Lucia,” said the minister, “let us pray”; 
and together they approached the throne of 
grace. 


CHAPTEK IX. 


BRO WNIE^B PENNY. 

T he next morning, just as Kate was touch- 
ing a match to the kitchen fire, for she 
always made a habit of laying it over- 
night, and was always, from choice, the first one 
up in the morning, the rustle of robes and a light 
step, which was not at all familiar to her, ap- 
proached the door. Looking up, she saw the 
pleasant face of her stepmother smiling upon 
her kindly. 

“Good morning, my dear,” said she, brightly. 
“ I have had a delightful night’s rest, and couldn’t 
find it possible to remain in bed another min- 
ute. Besides, I heard you stirring, and I 
thought it was too bad to allow you to be the 
only busy one in the family. What a nice, 
roomy kitchen you have.” 

“It answers well enough,” said Kate, pouring 
the coffee into the mill, and grinding away for 
dear life. “At least, I have always been able 
to get along in it well enough alone ; its pretty 
crowded for two or three to work in.” 

“It seems quite commodious to me,” said 
Mrs. Belmont, nothing daunted by the cool re- 
ception given her, “for we have lived in rooms 
and got along with light housekeeping for a 
number of years, the children and I, and a 
whole room devoted to cooking seems quite a 
vast affair to me. I have a great opinion of 
your housekeeping, my dear, for your papa was 
73 


74 


An Hundred- Fold. 


never tired of giving me the most compliment- 
ary descriptions of it ; so don’t be surprised if 
I take lessons of you. You have had a long 
siege of it, and now we expect you to be the 
young lady of the house, and have a good time 
with your music, and books, and companions. 
I never expect much of Nellie, but Clyde is a 
host ; a perfect treasure for a boy. He never 
leaves the wood-box or coal scuttle empty, and 
carries all the water, and does the errands like 
a man of business. And the best of it is, he is 
very fond of it.” 

Kate mixed her coffee and set it on the stove 
without answering. If there was one thing 
above another that she hated, it was having 
strangers coming in the kitchen when she was 
at work. But there was no getting rid of this 
pleasant-faced woman; she would stay in spite 
of her, and, more than that, she found helpful 
things to do, and did them, all the time talking 
away as if they were the greatest friends possi- 
ble. Kate wondered how she could find so 
much to talk about; She was positive that she 
could not, were she in her place. “ I should be 
snubbed to death,” she said to herself. “But 
some folks never know when they are not 
wanted. I wouldn’t be so perfectly wrapped up 
in myself for anything.” And she dropped the 
steak into the hissing skillet in a most emphatic 
manner. Just at this point Mamie appeared 
with a lowered countenance and a coat over her 
arm. “Brownie won’t let me dress him, Kate, 
what shall I do? And Ward wants his coat 
sewed up right away ; he can’t come down till 
you do it, he says.” 


7'5 


Brownies Penny, 

Kate looked up with an annoyed expression. 
It was impossible for her to leave her meat just 
then ; it needed turning in a minute. And the 
idea of having the children coming lagging in 
to breakfast was not a pleasant one either. 
Before she could speak, however, to direct the 
child, Mrs. Belmont took hold of the yielding 
hand, saying brightly: “Now, this is just ex- 
actly what / am good for, mending jackets and 
dressing babies. Let us go upstairs and see 
how Master Brownie will receive his new at- 
tendant,” and away they went. Mamie chat- 
ting like a magpie, and Mrs. Belmont filling the 
pauses with some blithe, happy little word, all of 
which made Kate feel as if she could pitch the 
breakfast out of the door, instead of placing it 
on the table. Still, what could she say? What 
could she do? Her father had given her a 
right in the house superior to her own, and if 
she, and Mamie, and all of them were going to 
act like that, she might just as well step’ out at 
once. How she wished she had some place to 
go where she could make a home for herself, 
where she need never see these troublesome 
people again, and where she would be appre- 
ciated according to what she was worth. She 
ran over the list of her relatives and friends in 
her mind as she hurried about the kitchen upon 
one errand and another. There were plenty of 
them, she was sure, who would welcome her for 
her mother’s sake, and help her to some em- 
ployment whereby she could make her living. 
Chief among these was a sister of her mother’s, 
living about a hundred miles away, a Mrs. 
Mink. Kate had always been a favorite with 


76 


An Hundred-Fold, 


her, and she not only felt quite sure of her 
Aunt Martha’s sympathy, but was confident 
that she would do for her all she asked. 

‘‘ I shall write to her at any rate,” said she, 
and ask her if I may come for a good, long 
visit. There will be no harm in that, and then, 
if I can’t stand it she will be prepared. Thank 
fortune, I am in my nineteenth year and can 
do exactly as I please.” 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Belmont had coaxed Brownie 
out of his naughty notions, and, beguiled by a 
pretty story, he had allowed the new mamma to 
superintend his dressing, even to the terrible 
feat of combing out his tangled curls, something 
which he submitted to from Kate with great 
reluctance, and only because he had to. Then 
the rent in the coat was carefully darned, and 
Mamie was sent with it to Ward’s room. ^^BKe 
mended it for you, Ward,” said the communi- 
cative little sister, “ and it is done nicer, a good 
deal, than Kate would have done it. And 
Brownie let her dress him just as nice, and 
after breakfast we’re going a little walk with her.” 

“Who do you mean by lierF demanded 
Ward, taking the coat and examining the 
mended rent with a critical eye. “There are 
so many females about this house now, that 
it is necessary to designate them. Was it the 
old one or the young one, and why couldn’t 
Madam Kate do it ? ” 

“ Why, because she’s so busy getting break- 
fast; there’s the bell now this minute. Why, 
don’t you know who I mean by her, Ward? 
Its — its our new mother,” in a whisper. “ Don’t 
you think its done very nicely?” 


Brownlees Penny. 


77 


‘‘ It is done well enough, but I would have 
worn the coat with a rent forever before I 
would have let her do it,” with which ungracious 
words he rushed downstairs to breakfast. 

After breakfast, prayers, and then came the 
unpacking of the trunks and the arranging of 
the different belongings into their respective 
places. I hardly know where to put my piano 
when it comes,” said Mrs. Belmont. “You 
have one already in the parlor, I see. Would 
it be in the way in the sitting-room do you 
think, Kate ? It is a very fine one or I should 
have disposed of it.” 

“ Why, that one in the parlor isn’t any good 
at all hardly,” said Mamie, before Kate could 
make up her mind to reply. “ There are some 
of the keys that don’t sound at all, and none of 
us know how to play. Why couldn’t it be 
taken out, Kate, and the nice one put in there ? ” 

“Don’t meddle,” said Kate, sharply. “You 
know very well, Mamie, that the piano was our 
own mother’s; she used to play on it, and it 
shall never be moved from where she left it if 1 
can help it.” 

“Mine will set very nicely on this side of the 
sitting-room,” said Mrs. Belmont, “and I think 
it will serve our purposes much better after all ; 
for if Mamie has as much music in her fingers 
as she has in her voice I shall want to show her 
how to get acquainted with the key-board of 
my piano. I think it is of great moment to 
have a musical instrument of some kind in the 
room one uses most commonly, anyway, for one 
loves to sing and play in the evenings just 
before separating for the night.” 


78 An Hundred- Fold, 

“Just as you please,” said Kate, coldly. 

Mr. Belmont came to the door looking puz- 
zled. He had been hanging some additional 
pictures in the study, and had hammer and 
nails in his hand. “Katie,” said he, “where 
are all the pretty things that used to be scat- 
tered about so profusely ? ” 

It was an unfortunate question, and one he 
was sorry for asking the moment it had passed 
his lips. Kate’s face flushed a dark red, and 
her lips pressed themselves tightly together as 
she replied : “ I put them away.” 

“ Did you ? ” said her father ; “ I am sorry 
for that. I think they gave the rooms a bright 
and tasty appearance, and I am fond of pretty 
things. Would it trouble you very much, 
daughter, to rearrange them? ” Having begun 
the struggle, Mr. Belmont meant to go through 
with it. 

The burning crimson flooded Kate’s face, 
and her brow contracted in a heavy frown as 
she jerked her embroidery cotton until she 
knotted it in two or three places. It seemed 
for a little while as if she were not going to 
reply at all, but finally she said, without look- 
ing up: “They were things that mamma and I 
made with our own hands. I didn’t suppose 
you would care for them now ; and as I have an 
undying affection for everything that dear 
mamma made or had to do with, I simply put 
them away among my treasures. Besides, I 
could not bear to think of all sorts of people 
handling them. They are sacred to me, and 
always will be. There can nevpr in the world 
be but one mother to me. I shall be true to 


79 


Brownie's Penny. 

her memory, no matter who else is false,” with 
which words Kate arose and hurriedly left the 
room. 

Harold and Ward were absent, but with that 
exception the children had all been present, and 
silent witnesses of the scene. Little Brownie, 
of course, only half-understood, though he 
could see by his father’s perturbed countenance, 
poor Nellie’s grieved eyes, Clyde’s indignant 
face and small clenched fist, and, most of all, 
by the tears rolling down Mrs. Belmont’s 
cheeks (for she had endured much that first 
day), that something had been said by sister 
Kate to hurt his new mamma’s feelings, of 
whom he had grown exceedingly fond in the 
short time she had been with them. Unnoticed 
by the rest, he slipped softly from the room. 

There were not wanting words of comfort 
from both husband and children, but she put all 
away with a smile. “ I am quite silly, I think,” 
said she. “Let us not say another word about 
it. I have a multitude of pretty things in my 
trunks, more than I know what to do with, and 
we will gladly let poor Katie have those that 
her mother made. It is no wonder she feels 
about them as she does. What is it, darling ? ” 
for Brownie had come back, and was pressing 
up timidly to her side with something evidently 
extremely precious clasped in both dimpled 
fists. 

“I — I is Solly for you, and so is Mamie; 
ain’t us, Mamie ? ” appealing, as usual, to his 
champion ; “ but Mr. Percival gived me a weal 
nice new penny to buy canny wiv, and there’s 
bootiful striped canny down street. You may 


80 


An Hundred-Fold. 


have my penny, new mamma, and go get you 
some, and ’nen the hurt will all go away, ev’y 
single bit ; won’t it, Mamie ? ” 

It was a very, very little thing, but there was 
undoubted healing in it. Mrs. Belmont caught 
the child in her arms and covered his sweet 
face with kisses. The new penny she kissed 
also, and said she should lay it among her 
treasures. “ He has given me a heart of grace,” 
she said to her husband. ‘‘It is a bow of 
promise amid the general deluge. Brownie 
has come like the dove with the olive leaf in its 
mouth ; and we must remember that this sweet 
child has been Kate’s from babyhood. She 
has a heart, George, though she is determined 
to keep it hidden just now. I am sure we shall 
get to it by-and-by.” 


CHAPTEB X. 


THE PR A YER. 

F EOM this time Kate lost her hold upon 
the two little children. Their sympathy 
had been with their new mother from the 
first, and aside from her being kind and win- 
some, she had something which attracts the 
heart of childhood always — pure, undying love 
for the little ones ; and in her they found some- 
thing more than the mere care which Kate had 
given them; they found the sunshine of sym- 
pathy, and their young hearts were warmed by 
it, and grew like rare plants, and blossomed out 
beautifully. Not that they forsook Kate at all. 
Mamie, perhaps, took even more pains to be 
helpful to her, and Brownie brought the brush 
and comb to her of his own accord to have his 
curls arranged, although it hurt a great deal 
worse than when mamma or Nellie did them, 
and there was never any enchanting story to 
make him forget how it pulled. “But,” as he 
confided to Mamie, “Katie loves to do my 
curls.” Sometimes they would please Kate by 
making grave promises, but five minutes in the 
new mamma’s society would break them like 
slender threads, and they came to grief con- 
tinually. One day, after a long curtain lecture 
from the sister they feared much more than 
they loved, Mamie burst out with: “I don’t 
care, Kate ; I shan’t make another promise. I 
can’t help liking them, and neither can Brownie^ 
6 81 


82 


An Hundred-Fold. 


And papa wants ns to love every one of them ; 
he has said so more than once, and he has lots 
more right with ns than yon have ; and we 
want to like them; they’re good — now!'' 

And then Brownie piped np: “Yes, sir; and 
Nellie reads to ns on Snndays, and makes ns 
sngar canny, and Clydie holded me on his knee 
and rides me to Boston and sings the old black 
cat, and once he kissed me and Mamie, and it 
tasted weal well, didn’t it, Mamie, and we is 
going to love ’em jnst as onr papa say, ain’t ns, 
Mamie?” 

“Very well,” said Kate, pnshing them away 
from her, “yon needn’t love me any more, then; 
I don’t want a divided heart. To think, chil- 
dren, after all I have done for yon, that yon 
shonld give me np — actnally throw me away 
for the first strangers that come along.” 

“We don’t throw yon away,” cried both chil- 
dren, pitifnlly; bnt Kate wonld hear no more, 
and pnt them away, and from that day they 
were in a measure lost to her. 

Not only in the home did Kate’s inflnence 
lose gronnd, bnt, after a time, in the chnrch 
also. She had been qnite popnlar there, even 
before her mother’s death, being one of those 
practical bnrden-bearers of which there are 
never too many in any society — ambitions to 
carry the largest load and tell everybody after- 
wards how very heavy it was. She was never 
very deeply engaged in the spiritnal interests 
of the chnrch; she never thonght of leading 
the devotional exercises of the missionary so- 
ciety ; in fact, she did not by any means always 
find it convenient to attend. Bnt she tanght a 


The Prayer, 


83 


class in Sunday-school, and it was supposed 
she did it well. The little girls seemed inter- 
ested and attended regularly, so it stood to 
reason in the minds of many that she must be a 
good teacher. Whether she taught Clirist and 
him crucified or not was a question neither she 
or anybody else ever thought to ask. But there 
was no one quite like her for getting up a live 
paying entertainment, or soliciting funds for the 
improvement of the church. She it was who 
headed the committee for raising money for the 
pipe organ, the new library and singing books ; 
and they all felt very positive in asserting that 
they would never in the world have been able 
to pay otf the mortgage on the church building 
if it had not been for Kate’s push and indefatig- 
able industry. 

Their sympathies were with Kate, too, in re- 
gard to the Doctor’s marriage, not wholly or en- 
tirely, but very greatly. Perhaps they allowed 
themselves to be somewhat prejudiced from the 
fact that the second wife, unlike the first, was 
not taken from their own midst, but was foreign 
to their knowledge and congregation. How- 
ever, the feeling was not so strong but that the 
perfect loveliness of Mrs. Belmont’s character 
and the power of her strong mental influence 
was sufficient to turn the tide in her favor, and 
the majority of the congregation voted her a 
welcome addition to their members. To be 
sure there were some who were perfectly ca- 
pable of standing out against her influence, and 
there were some whispering tongues at work, 
chief among which were Kate’s friends on Bose 
street. These whisperers took pains to circu- 


84 


An Hundred-Fold. 


late strange and absurd stories in regard to the 
domestic troubles, which they asserted were 
constantly arising from the administration of 
the minister’s new wite, of certain cruelties 
daily practised upon the children of the first 
Mrs. Belmont, and how the pastor himself was 
transformed from a once loving parent to a 
severe judge. 

It was within a fortnight of the holidays,, and 
Kate had gone to the lecture-room of the church 
in order to meet the other members of the pro- 
gramme committee, for they were to have in 
addition to their Christmas tree some special 
literary exercises. The committee was com- 
posed of two gentlemen and two ladies beside 
Kate, one of whom was Lucy Eansom. As 
they stood waiting for the delinquent members 
to assemble, Kate employed the time in rehears- 
ing her woes in the sympathizing ears of her 
companion. “I am getting tired enough of it,” 
she said, turning over the anthem book in the 
rapid search for a certain piece; “it is almost 
more than I can stand. Mr. Preston was at 
our house last night flattering Mrs. B. into 
taking charge of the infant- class in Sunday- 
school. And to hear him go on, one would 
think we had a perfect angel in our house. No 
one was so fitted for the position in his estima- 
tion. It needed the consecrated mind and 
heart he was sure she possessed, and a perfect 
knowledge of little folks, and more than all it 
needed love, and he was positive she had a 
goodly portion for all children. O dear ! I can’t 
endure Mr. Preston any more. I hope some- 
body will suggest a new superintendent for the 
coming year.” 


The Prayer, 


85 


‘‘ Did you know,” said Lucy, “ that Clyde is 
expected to have a prominent place on the pro- 
gramme ? I’ve heard several speak of it. You 
know, of course, his mother has been giving 
him lessons in elocution, and our Tommy says 
he is one of the finest speakers in the school 
building. 

“I have heard her drilling him by the hour,” 
said Kate, “ and it all looks unnatural and silly 
to me. Just because she has been educated in 
these things, she thinks she can put everybody 
else through the same process. She has begun 
on poor little Brownie already, and she keeps 
Mamie at the piano two whole hours every 
day. But there is just one thing about it: If 
they are going to make idols of Mrs. B. and 
her children, they may say good-bye to Kate.” 

Just here the members they were waiting for 
came in, and soon they were all busy discuss- 
ing the various abilities of this one and that one 
who was suggested as the best-fitted for this 
and that place on the programme. 

“By the way. Miss Katie,” said the chair- 
man of the committee, Mr. Wayland, “why 
couldn’t your sister take this solo in the open- 
ing anthem ? I have understood from different 
quarters that she has an especially fine voice, 
and it will relieve some of the rest of us.” 

“My sister!” repeated Kate, puzzled for the 
moment ; “ my sister is hardly old enough to — ” 

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said young Way- 
land, hastily; “I meant Miss Taylor, not the 
little girl. Don’t you think she could take this 
part ? I have had so much trouble about that 
anthem ; our sopranos are all too low to reach 


86 


An Hundred-Fold, 


the high notes in that solo clearly. I have 
never heard Miss Taylor sing, but Mr. Preston 
assures me that she sings like a bird.” 

Mr. Preston again ! Kate turned coldly 
away. “ I was not aware that Elinor could sing 
at ail,” said she; “I am sure that her voice is 
all of a tremble in singing some simple melody 
at home. I don’t see why Mr. Preston should 
want to give you the impression that she can 
manage anything like this anthem; and, be- 
sides, she is, as you all are aware, a cripple, 
and ought not to appear in so public a posi- 
tion.” 

“ Do you think she would mind it ? ” asked 
Miss Ashmore. ‘‘ I think her countenance is 
such a sweet one that it alone would cover all 
defects. I have heard Miss Nellie sing in 
church, and it seemed to me that she had a 
wonderful voice for such a young girl. But 
perhaps the anthem would be a little too much 
of an effort for her, Mr. Way land. Something 
simpler might be preferable ; but I should say, 
have her on the programme by all means. 
You see, Katie, we have quite fallen in love 
with your new relatives.” 

“I see,” said Kate, somewhat bitterly. ‘‘I 
hope you will not be disappointed in the object 
of your affections. No, thank you, Mr. Way- 
land; I couldn’t possibly allow my name to 
appear for that duet. Our family is becoming 
altogether too famous.” 

“ Then we must have another chorus instead,” 
said Mr. Wayland, a trifle irritated. “Miss 
Lucy, can you attend to seeing the parties and 
getting them together to practice; and Miss 


87 


The Prayer, 

Katie, I shall depend upon you and Miss Ash- 
more to drill the children in their parts. Wil- 
kins and Miss Eussell and I will attend to all 
the minor matters; and do let us all try this 
once to make a perfect success of it. I do dis- 
like a failure above all things. Let us employ 
the best talent at our command without regard 
to personal feeling. I don’t think we ought to 
bring personalities of any kind into the house 
of the Lord. Christ looked beyond himself, 
and I think his followers should.’' 

With the rebuke which these words implied 
ringing in her ears and creating in her heart a 
tempest of angry emotions, Kate walked rapidly 
towards home. It was already drawing near 
night, for the committee had met quite late, and 
the gas was being lighted in the principal 
streets. As she entered her own door and was 
passing her stepmother’s room on her way up- 
stairs, she noticed that the door was not quite 
shut, and heard a low voice within, softly and 
with much feeling, pronouncing her name. 
Jealous and distrustful, she stayed her foot and 
bent her head and listened. The next moment 
she became aware that it was Mrs. Belmont 
talking to God about her ; praying that the love 
of the gentle Jesus might prove too much for 
her; that it might break every barrier down 
between the wayward girl and herself ; praying 
that she, the mother, might be given wisdom 
from above to walk circumspectly before this 
one of her household who would not love nor 
let herself be loved; praying that an open door 
might be set before her — some means presented 
whereby she might reach her ; praying that the 


88 


An Hundred-Fold. 


thought of self might be swallowed up in the 
one great Christ-like thought of making peace ; 
and praying that God would mercifully sweeten 
the bitter cup of affliction with a sense of his 
love, that she might be able to drink it all and 
wait his time for deliverance and reward. 

Kate crept away to her room and locked and 
bolted herself in before the voice had ceased. 
She could endure no more. She felt paralyzed 
by what she had heard, confounded and over- 
whelmed by the knowledge that her step- 
mother could love her and could tell God so 
upon her knees, when she had done nothing 
but hate her and talk against her from the time 
she had come into their midst. She was white, 
and trembling and cold, but she went swiftly 
about the room putting her clothes together in 
little heaps, counting the money in her purse, 
and packing trunk and hand-bag. Then she 
wrote a bit of a note, replaced the wraps she 
had laid aside, put the note where it would be 
found easily, took her bag in her hand, w^ent 
down the back stairs and out at the back door, 
and took her way to the depot just as the dark- 
ness settled down and became pronounced. 


CHAPTEK XL 


ARE YOU RIGHT? 

K ate hurried along toward the depot in a 
tumult of conflicting feelings very diffi- 
cult to describe. She was both angry and 
sorry. The prayer which she had overheard 
had aroused her conscience to an alarming ex- 
tent, and had convinced her to some extent, 
also, that she was decidedly in the wrong. 
Still, she never once thought of acknowledging 
it; she set her will steadily and unflinchingly 
against everything of the kind. But she felt 
that she must put distance between herself and 
the inmates of her father’s house. That must 
be done. She could no longer endure the re- 
buke of her stepmother’s righteous life. She 
might as well go to Aunt Martha first as last. 
She had written her the letter she had proposed 
doing, and had received in reply a warm invita- 
tion to come and stay just as long as she liked ; 
nothing would please them better. 

Sbe was not used to being out after dark un- 
protected by father or brother, and she felt 
some natural fear as she hurried along the 
street. It was going to be a stormy night. 
The clouds were gathering above her head in 
black, ominous-looking billows, and there was 
a dull roaring in the air that betokened violent 
wind. Choosing the most unfrequented streets, 
fehe hastened on, for she was fearful of meet- 
ing either with Harold or Ward; the former 
89 


90 


An Hundred- Fold. 


would be coming from the store about this 
time, and as to the latter, he was always 
prowling about. She knew her father was at 
home, for she had heard some one with him in 
the study as she went in. 

At last she reached the depot. There were 
three or four trains making-up ready to start 
out, and she had some little difficulty finding 
the one she wanted. She went to the telegraph 
office and sent a telegram to Aunt Martha that 
she was coming, that she would be there proba- 
bly somewhere about eleven o’clock, and to meet 
her with the carriage. Then she went directly to 
the ticket- office to purchase her ticket. She 
was asking some questions of the ticket- agent, 
and was trying to appear self-possessed while 
she counted her small stock of money, and 
handed out her one five-dollar bill in pay for 
her ticket to McKinleysville, and was waiting 
for the change, when a pleasant voice at her 
right accosted her. 

Miss Katie, good evening. Just come from 
somewhere? Can I help you with your bag- 
gage? Will you have a hack, or is Harold 
here to meet you ? ” 

Kate turned abruptly at the sound of the 
manly, pleasant tones, and there beside her, 
wrapped in his long ulster, and with his satchel- 
strap slung over his shoulder, was the young 
minister, Mr. Percival 

She didn’t exactly know whether she was 
glad or sorry to see him. Perhaps she was 
both. Glad to see a friendly face in the lonely 
depot ; glad to feel a sort of relief and protection 
in his presence ; glad to see him because she liked 


Are You Right ? 


91 


him very much — more than any gentleman she 
knew — but sorry that he should see her there ; 
sorry lest he should get an inkling of her move- 
ments, and perhaps feel that it was his religious 
duty to interfere; sorry and ashamed, too, to 
have him know that she was leaving home be- 
cause she must, and going where she had no 
legal right to stay. But she managed, though 
in a constrained way, to return his salutation, 
and even took the proffered hand he held out. 

“Excuse me,” said he, as his keen eye caught 
sight of the ticket that was passed to her 
through the little window of the ticket- office, 
together with her change. “But, Miss Kate, 
will you forgive my impertinence if I ask what 
that means ? You are going instead of coming, 
and — to McKinleysville ? I sincerely beg par- 
don, but I saw it on the ticket.” 

Kate blushed crimson as she stowed away 
the bit of pasteboard in her purse. Then she 
walked toward the waiting-room, saying : “ Yes, 
I am going to Aunt Martha Mink’s on a good, 
long visit.” But she could not help adding, 
“I don’t see why you had to look at that 
ticket.” 

“I don’t either,” said Mr. Percival meekly, 
keeping close to her side. “ But my eyes will 
wonder from* their duty sometimes. I wish you 
could be prevailed upon to tell me just how you 
are going. Miss Katie ; whether alone or with ac- 
ceptable company. I feel a friendly interest in 
knowing that you are comfortably cared for.” 

“ I am going alone,” said Kate, curtly, “ and 
I beg as a special favor, that if you are going 
down to our house — to father’s, I should say, 


92 


An Hundred-Fold. 


you will be so good as to say nothing of having 
met me here. I left word where I was going, 
but I would rather they didn’t know it just yet, 
as they might object to my going alone, and I 
am not a particle afraid.” 

“I am not going down there,” said Mr. Per- 
cival, following her into the waiting-room. “I 
am going to McKinleysville, too.” 

“ I trust you are going to do no such thing,” 
said Kate. 

“ I am,” he replied, “ and I hope you’ll be 
good and let me occupy a seat with you. I 
have some business in that direction. There’s a 
little church not far from there that I have been 
invited to preach to once in a while, and I want 
to run up and see about it.” 

Kate looked incredulous, but had no answer 
ready, so Mr. Percival seated himself beside 
her as if he had come to stay. 

“Do you know what time our train starts 
out?” he asked, moving her hand-bag to his 
side of the seat and speaking in a comfortable 
tone. “ I’ll get my ticket after I see you safely 
aboard. There is always an abundance of 
time.” 

“ I believe the ticket-agent told me the train 
would be called in ten or fifteen minutes,” re- 
plied Kate, coldly. Then she added pleadingly : 
“Please, Mr. Percival, do leave me by myself. 
I don’t want anybody with me. I so much 
prefer being alone.” 

“I know you do,” returned the young gentle- 
man coolly, “ but I find it quite an impossibility 
to grant your request this time. Unfortunately 
I have no company, and I do so dislike travel- 


Are You Eight f 


93 


ling alone. It makes me quite miserable. Do 
try to put up with me, Miss Kate, I’ll promise 
to be very good.” 

Kate looked at his serio-comic face and 
laughed in spite of her low spirits. Just then 
the train was called, and Mr. Percival, taking 
her hand-bag in one hand, assisted her across 
the net-work of tracks to the cars in waiting. 
After he had seen her comfortably seated, he 
returned and bought his ticket, but was with 
her again in a few moments. 

“Now, see here, Mr. Percival,” said she, 
abruptly, “I am not to be deceived by your 
cunning strategy and fine arts. I feel confident 
that when I met you in the depot you had no 
more notion of going to McKinleysville than 
you had of going to the capital, and I don’t 
like your doing so at all.” 

Mr. Percival did not reply immediately. He 
was very busy taking off his ulster, and stow- 
ing the umbrellas and hand-bag in the rack 
overhead. The window had been thrown up 
by the last occupant of the seat, too, and must 
be let down so the night air would not come in 
on his companion, and then there was a boy 
going through with papers and magazines, and 
he took some little time in selecting from them 
a late number of Harper’s for her amusement. 
The train had been started some minutes by 
this time, and was speeding on through the 
now pouring rain and pitchy darkness. Then, 
in a very gentle, serious, truthful tone of voice 
he turned to her and spoke his answer: “My 
dear Miss Katie,” said he, “I didn’t mean to 
go to McKinleysville to-night, that is very true. 


94 


An Hundred-Fold. 


I liad come down to consult your father in 
regard to the little church I spoke to you of 
visiting with an eye to supplying somewhere in 
the near future. But when I saw you alone, 
and I thought looking very unhappy, going out 
into the stormy night companionless, our Father 
in heaven gave me another commission. He 
said to me : There’s my little girl going off by 
herself unprotected. I want you to go with 
her and see her safely to her journey’s end. I 
have always tried to yield to good promptings, 
and I am sure you will not chide me for doing 
so this time.” 

“I don’t see how you can believe that the 
Lord takes care of us in every little thing,” 
said Kate, struggling with her tears. al- 
ways think that it sounds rather irreverent to 
talk of him in that way, just as if he was a per- 
sonal friend — a father or a mother.” 

“And isn’t he?” asked Mr. Percival. “Do 
not the Scriptures say, ‘ Like as a father pitieth 
his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear 
him ’ ? And here is another : ‘As one whom his 
mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.” 
And does not the book say that ‘ he giveth his 
angels charge concerning us, to keep us in all 
our ways’ ; and that ‘he is round about his peo- 
ple, as the walls are round about Jerusalem’; 
and that ‘he marks the sparrow’s fall, and even 
numbers the hairs of our heads ’ ? Are you not 
of more value in his eyes than many sparrows, 
my dear sister? Be not faithless, but believ- 
ing. Will you further forgive me if I ask you 
just why you undertake this journey without 
the knowledge of the folks at home, and 


Are You Right f 95 

why on the evening instead of the morning 
train?” 

Kate tried to laugh lightly. “I thought that 
I would give them a little surprise,” said she. 
“They are so used to my doing everything in 
the ordinary way, they don’t look, for anything 
else where I am concerned. It isn’t likely that 
they will miss me, however, until they have 
some special need for my services. Then, there 
is the note that I left to enlighten them.” 

“But they will worry about you, even then, 
will they not?” asked Mr. Percival, anxiously. 

“I don’t see why they should,” said Kate. ^ 
“Ladies travel by themselves every day now, 

and make long distances alone. Besides ” 

Kate hesitated here, but in a moment went on 
desperately: “I might as well tell you about it, 

I suppose ; I see you are determined to know. 
The truth is, Mr. Percival, I felt that I could 
not stay there any longer. It was an impossi- 
bility for me to like my father’s wife and her 
children, and I am sure that they will be much 
happier with me out of the way. I feel that I 
have no interest in the home any more. Even 
the children have turned against me, and think 
everything that Mrs. Belmont says is law and 
gospel. Some people might not have minded 
it, but my disposition is peculiar. When I get 
to Aunt Martha’s, I shall write to father, and 
have him send me my trunk, and then they can 
have the house to themselves. I am satisfied 
that my room will be far more acceptable than 
my company.” 

“ Have you any well-balanced plans for the 
future ? ” asked Mr. Percival, kindly. 


96 


An Hundred- Fold, 


‘‘I have a plan,” returned Kate; “I can’t 
say whether it is a well-balanced one or not. I 
have an idea that I can teach school. I got a 
certificate for a year, once, and I fancy that I 
could do so again. I would have to study up 
some, of course. I believe that I should like it 
very much — more than anything else.” 

Her companion was silent for some time. 
When he spoke, his voice was quite solemn: 
“Are you sure that you are right in taking this 
step. Miss Katie? Are there not some mental 
misgivings about it ? Have you calmly counted 
the cost of such a movement? Of course pub- 
* lie opinion is something which we are all more 
or less anxious to appease ” 

“Public opinion may keep to itself, so far as 
I am concerned,” said Kate, hotly. 

“I wish it would,” said the young minister, 
meekly, “ but how are you going to make it do 
so? That’s the question. People will talk just 
as they please, and we have to let them. The 
only way that I can think of to get along with 
them is, not to give them anything to talk 
about.” 

“ Oh ! well,” said Kate, irritably, “ if they are 
talking about me, they are not talking about 
anybody else ; that is one comfort.” 

“That is something, to be sure; but. Miss 
Kate, you have not answered my ques’tion yet. 
Are you sure that you are right? Have you 
settled it with Jesus Christ? Is he leading 
you in this?” 

“I don’t know whether he is or not,” replied 
Kate, uneasily. “I don’t suppose that he is. 
But, Mr. Percival, there really seemed nothing 


97 


Are You Right f 

else to do. Yes, I am sure that Lam right; I 
know that I am.” 

“All right, then; that settles it. Now, is 
there anything that I can do to make you any 
more comfortable? Will you try to sleep a 
little, lunch on bananas and oranges, or try to 
look over this magazine ? The light is not ex- 
cessively brilliant — hardly bright enough to 
read intelligently — but I think you can see the 
illustrations.” 

“Please excuse me,” she said. “You are 
very kind, but I would much rather be quiet.” 

“ I will consent to that with the proviso that 
you will consider me your brother and friend, 
and call upon me if you should want anything. 
I am willing and anxious to do anything in the 
world for you. Miss Katie, that lies in my power.” 

However, Kate shook her head and turned 
her eyes to the window upon which the cold 
rain was beating, and the journey proceeded in 
silence. They had to change cars and lay over 
for a long weary hour at Kimball’s junction, so 
that it was something after eleven o’clock when 
they arrived at McKinley sville. It was a town 
of possibly two thousand inhabitants, very pret- 
tily laid out, and the waiting-room was exceed- 
ingly pleasant and attractive. But Kate cared 
for nothing but a sight of her uncle’s face. He 
was there in a moment or two after she entered 
it, and greeted her cordially. 

“I don’t know what to do, though, Kate,” said 
he, “we are in a mighty tough fix at our house. 
Both of the children are down with malignant 
diphtheria, and my wife’s just about worn out. 
We knew you would have started, or we would 


98 An Hundred-Fold. 

have telegraphed for you not to come just noW. 
Not but what you are just as welcome as wel- 
come can be, but I wouldn’t have you take the 
disease for anything in the world. It goes 
mighty hard with grown folks, I’ve heard said. 
However, if you want to risk it, all right; 
Martha will be very glad to see you. But if 
you’re a mite afraid, I reckon you’d better let 
me take you over to the hotel and stay till 
morning, and then go back home on the first 
train, and try it over some other time.” 

Now, if there was one thing in the world of 
diseases that Kate was more afraid of than 
another, it was diphtheria. She had seen a 
little cousin die once of that dread disorder, 
and her face whitened at the very thought of 
being exposed. Still, she could not return 
home ; that was not to be thought of for one 
moment. This she explained to her uncle as 
well as she could, and together they stood 
making one fruitless plan after another. Sud- 
denly a thought struck Kate, and she brightened 
immediately. “O Uncle Allen, you know 
mamma’s friend, Mrs. Knox, in Clinton? She 
has invited me to visit her so often. I will go 
there until you get better at your house. It 
will be just the thing.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were ac- 
quainted with that little lady?” asked Mr. Per- 
cival; “she is my friend, too, and the little 
church at Clinton is the very one I am talking 
of serving for a while. I will go right along up 
with you in the morning. It is only twenty- 
five miles further on.” 

And so it was arranged, and Kate was made 


99 


Are You Right? 

comfortable at the nearest hotel. But it was a 
restless night she passed. In vain she beat up 
the pillows, opened the window to let in the air, 
and turned wearily from side to side. The 
prayer which she had overheard seemed to be 
written in letters of living fire upon her heart 
and brain, and even in her uneasy dreams she 
still heard the soft, sweet, earnest voice plead- 
ing at the mercy- seat for her. She sat up in 
the bed and fanned her feverish face. What 
if God should think best to answer that prayer? 
Could he make her so sorry for what she had 
done that she would be willing to say, “For- 
give me?” Could he make her love that 
woman? Her heart raged with the thought. 
And so the night passed away, and the day 
dawned. 


CHAPTEE XII. 

MRS. KNOX. 

T he next morning as Kate and Mr. Perci- 
val were waiting in the little depot for the 
train, Mr. Mink came in accompanied by 
a little lady in grey, who was exceedingly good 
to look at, she was so full of sunshine. There 
was ‘‘sunshine in her soul.” 

“This lady is going on up to Clinton with 
you,” said he. “She’s the primary school- 
teacher up there ; have taught there as much as 
four years, haven’t you? She is a second 
cousin of mine, and has been down helping 
Martha a few days. Miss Eichie, Miss Bel- 
mont. She’s heard us talk about you, Kate; 
she knows you all right.” 

“I do feel that I hardly need an introduc- 
tion,” said the little lady, in her quiet, sun- 
shiny way. “Thank you, I have met Mr. Per- 
cival. I am so glad that you know Mrs. Knox 
and are going to spend some time with her. 
I shall hope to see more of you, as she is a 
special friend of mine. Mrs. Mink is so dis- 
appointed that you cannot eome to see her now 
as proposed. She sent a multitude of kind 
messages to you by me.” 

“And how are the little ones this morning?” 
asked Mr. Percival. 

“I regret to say, no better. I should have 
stayed, but my school needs me.” 

Kate was very glad to see Miss Eichie, and 
100 


Mrs, Knox, 


101 


said so with her characteristic earnestness. It 
was comforting to have the society of a lady 
just now, and the two were soon engaged in a 
pleasant conversation, from which they were 
aroused by Uncle Allen announcing that their 
train was in sight. 

“Well, take good care of yourselves,” said 
he, shaking hands all round. “We’ll be sure 
to let you know how we get along, and just as 
soon as the little fellows get so they can have 
company, we shall expect to see you down our 
way, Kate. Good-bye. Be good to yourselves.” 

“ I think almost half *the neighborhood knew 
that you were expected,” said Miss Richie to 
Kate, as they settled themselves in the train. 
“It does seem so funny how fast a bit of news 
spreads. Ever so many interested parties 
stopped us on our way to the depot this morn- 
ing with inquiries about you.” 

“There are no secrets in small places like 
McKinleysville and Clinton,” observed Mr. 
Percival. “A person’s ideas are hardly safe. 
They are in danger of being picked out of his 
head and circulated before he himself is scarce- 
ly aware of them. I like, the warm, social 
feeling of these little towns, though ; and I en- 
joy preaching in them. Of course, my experi- 
ence has not been immense, but I often feel as 
though I should like to settle down in some 
serene sequestered village and end my days.” 

“They are very anxious to obtain your ser- 
vices at Clinton,” said Miss Richie ; “ the only 
objection seems to be the- distance.” 

“ I shall not mind that if I can be convinced 
that the hand of the Lord is in it,” said Mr. 


102 


An Hundred-told. 


Percival. ‘‘ I can easily arrange my recitations 
so that I can make up for the Monday fore- 
noons. And it would only be once in two 
weeks. I suppose you and Mrs. Knox are as 
busy as ever in the Sunday-school and Young 
People’s Society?” 

“We are doing the best we can to keep them 
alive; at least, Mrs. Knox is; she never gives 
any good thing up, you know. It is sure -to 
prosper in her hands. She is just as busy as 
she can be taking care of people. I do think 
that if the Lord ever did have a faithful laborer 
in his vineyard, it is Mrs. Knox.” 

“ I am with you there, said Mr. Percival. 
‘‘ She is certainly the breeziest little woman I 
know of, and does more to take the kinks out 
of folks than anybody I ever saw. Oh! you 
won’t trouble her a particle,” replying to an 
anxious look which he observed on Kate’s face. 
“You can dismiss every fear on that score. 
'uShe loves to be taken by surprise ; she is equal 
to any emergency, and is never quite so happy 
as when she has a lot of company to entertain; 
she is a woman of such unbounded faith, too. 
I never go there without receiving a decided 
uplift.” 

“I don’t think,” said Miss Kichie, “that I 
ever saw any one who reflected Christ more 
than she. She is what I like to call a shining 
Christian. No one can look at her without 
seeing the Light of the world within.” 

And so they talked, and Kate sat and listened 
and wondered. Could they really believe all 
they said? Was Jesus so much nearer and 
dearer to them than to her? Why was this? 


loa 


Mrs. Knox, 

She was still puzzling over this question when 
the train stopped at Clinton. This was a much 
smaller town than McKinleysville. There were 
no carriages to take her to her destination, and 
she was obliged to pick her way along the 
sloppy, broken, wooden sidewalks as best she 
could. The beautiful house into which she 
was ushered, however, and the beautiful little 
woman that greeted her so royally, more than 
compensated for the inconvenience which she 
had suffered. 

Little Mrs. Knox (for she was literally a little 
woman, not much above Kate’s shoulder) 
bustled about, throwing open the parlor shades, 
punching the fire in the grate, bringing in some 
hot lemonade, to keep them from taking cold, 
and talking the sincerest and brightest of wel- 
comes to them all the time. 

“You’ll just stay with us now, we’ve got you, 
over Sabbath and preach for us,” she said to 
the young minister, smiling radiantly in the in- 
tensity of her enjoyment. “We have the most 
forlorn little congregation you ever saw,” to 
Kate. “Dear old Mr. Wright said yester- 
day he almost believed the Lord had forgotten 
us, but I said, ‘No!’ I told the old gentleman 
that I thought the good Shepherd was going to 
a great deal of pains to get us the man we want, 
and now here comes Arthur. As if the Lord 
could forget his own ! ” 

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Percival. “I like 
that. That’s the voice of faith. Let’s see: 
this is Friday, isn’t it ? I do not know but I 
might manage to stay.” 

“ If you don’t manage it I shall undertake to 


104 


An Hundred-Fold, 


do it for you,” said the little lady right merrily. 
“Catch me letting go of you until Monday 
morning.” 

Mr. Percival laughed. “Well,” said he, “I 
don’t know but I may as well submit gracefully. 
By-the-way, isn’t this your prayer-meeting even- 
ing? I suppose you still keep them up?” 

“Why, to be sure we do,” responded Mrs. 
Knox, bringing a hassock from somewhere and 
tucking it under Kate’s feet with a nice, loving 
little pat or two. “ I’ll tell you what I’ll do, 
Arthur. You see we haven’t any regular sexton ; 
we take turns around taking care of the church, 
and prayer- meeting evenings I generally run 
around and light the fire myself, for John’s at 
the store, you know, and I like to have it good 
and warm ; and if there isn’t a soul there but 
Mr. Wright and John and I, we have a 
prayer-meeting, and we have a good one, too.” 

“I believe it,” said the minister, gravely, 
“and I know that Jesus makes one of you. I 
shall be very glad to begin my advent among 
you with a prayer-meeting. It seems to me 
like a promise of good things to come; and 
Miss Katie will enjoy making one of us, too, I 
hope.” 

Kate murmured an affirmative answer, and 
Mrs. Knox, well pleased, bustled about to see 
about dinner. After that meal Mr. Percival 
went out to make some calls on some of the 
leading members of the church, and Mrs. Knox 
drew her chair up close to Kate’s and began a 
sweet, confidential chat. 

“I am so glad you came,” she said. “It is 
exactly what I have been wishing for so long, 


Mrs. Knox. 


105 


for I not only love you for your precious 
mother’s sake, but for your own. I’ve no girls 
of my own, you know, and I do love to mother 
other people’s girls; and Arthur tells me that 
you are going to be good enough to stay a few 
days with me. That is right, the longer the 
better. I call Mr. Percival Arthur, my dear, 
for I have known him ever since he came into 
the world ; used to cuddle him when he was a 
baby, and took him to Boston on my knee time 
and again when he was a wee laughing boy, 
and I do love him so. He is so good, just 
number one, a thoroughly tip-top young man. 
I am hoping that God intends to let us have 
him preach for us a while. We do so need a 
consecrated young man, one who isn’t afraid to 
work, and who is in the habit of standing by 
the Bible.’ 

“I think, in all probability, you will be able 
to obtain his services,” said Kate. “ He said — 
that is, I thought he spoke as if he was very 
much inclined to come here for a time.” 

“ That is charming intelligence. Of course, we 
know he cannot settle here ; he is not through 
with his studies yet, and his abilities will 
open to him a wider door of usefulness; but 
we all feel that he can give us some of the 
many good things that daily come to his lot; 
and I tell you, we are so starved for the gospel 
up here, that I am positive we shall be glad of 
the crumbs which fall from the Master’s table. 
How nice it was that you happened to be 
travelling in the same direction. You are old 
acquaintances, are you not ? I have frequently 
heard him speak of your father.” 


106 


An Hundred- Fold, 


I think father met him some two or three 
years ago at Presbytery,” replied Kate. “The 
rest of us never saw him until he came to Oak- 
land to supply the pulpit in my father’s ab- 
sence. He stopped at our house and we ob- 
tained a pretty good knowledge of each other.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Knox, looking at the young 
girl thoughtfully. “ Oakland is a beautiful place, 
my dear. I have not been there for many 
years, not since your second brother — what is 
his name? Ward, yes — was a babe. Tour 
mother was the very dearest girl friend I ever 
had in my life, my dear. And now she is at 
rest among the blessed in heaven. You are 
expecting to go home to her by-and-by when 
life’s duties are accomplished, are you not?” 

Kate bowed ; she could not trust herself to 
speak. 

“ I thought so,” said the little woman, pat- 
ting Kate’s trembling hand lovingly. “And 
you have been mother to the rest of the little 
flock all this time. How many are there of 
you, my dear? ” 

“There are flve children of us: three boys 
and two girls.” 

“And I hear the Dr. has married a second 
time. Well, my dear, such changes are not 
always pleasant ; but how comforting to know 
that our Father understands just how to make 
all the unhappy things of life turn into bless- 
ings, and that he will do so if we will only 
commit all to him. Now, 1 am going to ask 
you to excuse me. I know that you will want 
to write a line to your father and let him know 
that you have made a safe journey, and that 


Mrs, Knox, 


107 


you are at my house instead of at Mrs. Mink’s, 
as you intended. You will find my writing- 
desk on the table in the corner, and do you 
just take it and sit down and chat as long as 
you like with the home folks. We will drop 
it in the office as we go to prayer-meeting this 
evening. Write just as much and as long as 
you like, and I’ll go out to the kitchen and see 
how Hetty’s baby is getting on. It had a bad 
attack of croup last night. Hetty is a poor 
widow woman whom I engaged to help me do 
the work. She is just as good as gold, but she 
has two babies : one three years old and the 
other only eight months— the sweetest little 
thing. We think everything of them — John 
and I. Having no children of our own, we are 
almost silly over a baby, and we could keep 
these two so much better than most other 
people, and the poor woman was obliged to 
work for her living, and we thought it would 
be a sin to part them. You must see them by- 
and-by.” 

“ I shouldn’t think she would be much help 
to you,” said Kate. 

“Oh! she is a great help, and so honest and 
careful ; and the babies are very little trouble. 
They play with their rag dolls and rattles 
almost all the day, and when they tumble over 
in a sleep, we just tuck a pillow under their 
heads and throw a shawl over them; and we 
don’t hear a whisper of them any more for two 
or three hours. You see, poor Hetty is a 
drunkard’s widow, and, oh, dear, she was in 
such a terrible plight when he died. It was 
necessary to do all we could for her. It was 


108 


An Hundred-Fold, 


just an absolute Christian duty. But here I 
am running on again. John says my tongue 
is the largest member of my body, and I guess 
he’s about right. Now, I really will go,” and 
she did, leaving Kate wondering over the dis- 
closures she had made. How could she endure 
this woman and her babies in her beautiful 
home, when she might have her choice among 
the working -girls, many of whom were so 
pretty and pleasant. Kate did not understand 
this kind of Christianity ; and she hardly knew 
why a favorite verse of her mother’s floated 
softly through her mind as she still sat think- 
ing of the little lady. It was this : 

“With weary human feet he, day by day, 

Once trod this earth to work his acts of love ; 

And every step is chronicled above 
His servants take to follow in his way. 


CHAPTEK XIII. 


KA TE'S LETTER. 

K ate arose listlessly from her comfortable 
seat by the fire, and going over to the 
corner table, wheeled it up close to the 
glowing grate, and carefully lifted the lid of 
the little rosewood writing-desk. It was a 
dainty thing, with the top inlaid with mother- 
of-pearl, and a silver plate on which was en- 
graved the initials E. S. K., and it was filled 
with the daintiest of paper and envelopes. A 
gold pen with a silver holder lay in its own lit- 
tle nook, and postage stamps and postal cards 
were plentiful. Kate had an eye for pretty 
things, and stood for some time looking over 
the very admirable box; then, with a weary 
sigh, she lifted a postal card, and drew her 
chair up to the table. After she had arranged 
everything, however, she was still uncertain 
just how to act. She had not intended to write 
home quite so soon. She saw no special need 
of it, herself. But it seemed that Mrs. Knox 
did, and it might be she would ask her some 
troublesome questions should she neglect to do 
it. However, if she must write, she did not see 
why a postal card would not do about as well 
as a letter. All that she should feel like say- 
ing would most assuredly go on that, and what 
was the use of trying to do anything further. 
She hesitated for some time, now laying down 
the postal card and taking up the dainty sheet 
109 


110 


An Hundred-Fold- 


of linen paper, and even selecting an envelope 
from the snowy heap, and hovering over it with 
her pen; then picking np the card, then the 
paper, then the card, until at last she decided on 
the paper, and drawing it toward her, wrote 
with singular swiftness the following : 

‘ • Clinton, December 8, 18 — . 

Dear Father : Mrs. Knox, the lady who is, 
at present, entertaining me, thinks it is my duty 
to write you concerning my whereabouts, lest 
you be unduly anxious about me, and although 
I am quite sure that I am not of such conse- 
quence as to cause you a very great degree of 
unrest, I feel it to be quite impossible to assign 
a reason for not doing as she thinks proper, so 
I send you this letter. 

‘‘I fully intended going to Aunt Martha’s, as 
I said in the note I left, but I found upon arriv- 
ing at McKinleysville that they had very serious 
contagious illness at their house, and so I came 
on to Clinton, to make iny long-promised visit 
to Mrs. Emily Stanhope Knox, my mother’s 
dearest friend. I knew I should be welcome 
here, and so I am. I shall stay until I find 
that Uncle Allen’s folks are out of danger, and 
then I shall go there, and go to stay, at least 
until I can provide for myself. 

“ Of course, you expect me to do this. Of 
course, you must have known when you found 
that I had gone away, that I had no intention 
of ever returning. Why should I ? I ought to 
have left weeks ago. Home is no longer to me 
what it used to be, and it never can be again. 

“There is no need of multiplying words. \ 


Kate's Letter. 


Ill 


have told you where I am, and that my inten- 
tions are to obtain suitable employment as soon 
as I can. I think I shall try to teach; and, 
now, I have discharged my duty, if duty it was, 
and nothing remains to be done. 

‘‘ I will only trouble you to send me my trunk 
at your earliest convenience. I packed it and 
brought the key with me. 

“ Your daughter, 

“ Kate Belmont.” 

She had just folded her missive and sealed it 
up in its envelope, when the door opened and 
her hostess came in, her cheeks rosy-red with 
being kissed by the north wind. “I have a 
noble fire going in the old church,” said she, 
gaily, “and every corner will be as warm as 
toast in an hour. I ran across Edna Richie, 
too. You never told me, and neither did Ar- 
thur, that she came up with you on the train 
this morning. She is the dearest girl in the 
world — don’t you think so ? I must tell you a 
little bit about her while I am warming my feet. 
You must know that she just struggled with 
everything from childhood up : drunkenness, 
disease, and dear knows what. Her father 
died of delirium tremens when she was only 
twelve years old, and her mother had lain in 
bed for three years with hip disease at the time, 
and for two long years after, and besides that, 
she had a brother that had these epileptic fits, 
and this child had no one to help her but an 
old grandmother. How the two got along no 
one ever could rightly tell, but they managed 
somehow to keep from starving. I know Edna 


112 


An Hundred- Fold. 


worked in a 'woollen mill. Well, you see, she 
was the greatest hand to read and study that 
you ever saw, and she was all the time borrow- 
ing books and reading every spare minute. 
Among other things she read the lives of seve- 
ral missionaries, and deep down in the child’s 
heart she wanted to go and tell about Jesus to 
the heathen. Her mother died when she was 
fourteen ; her brother almost immediately after, 
but her grandma lived on until she was sixteen, 
and that girl was perfectly devoted to her. 
She is twenty now, and is one of the best edu- 
cated girls in the radius of two hundred miles. 
She has worked her own way up, and is deserv- 
ing of all the praise that my poor tongue can 
give her, at any rate. I want you to know her 
better. She is coming to the meeting to-night, 
and — you should see poor old Mr. Wright; 
he is overjoyed at the prospect of having a 
prayer- meeting with a minister in it, as he says. 
The only trouble is the singing; -we none of us 
know how very well. Now, you do. I know 
you do. You could hardly be your mother’s 
daughter without having something akin to that 
splendid voice of hers. And you will sing for 
us, you and Arthur. I see you have been duti- 
ful and have written your letter to papa. That 
is right. And now, can you amuse yourself 
with books and pictures while I run out in the 
kitchen and help Hetty just a wee bit about the 
supper? There is a hymn-book on the organ. 
Just pick out a lot of nice pieces to sing while 
I’m gone, will you not ? ” and before Kate could 
open her mouth to reply, the little lady was gone. 

Kate picked up the copy of Gospel Hymns, 


Kate^s Letter. 


113 


and turned the leaves aimlessly. She was fond 
of singing, but she did not enjoy the prospect 
of going through the half-frozen mud to a prosy 
little country prayer-meeting and amusing a 
half-dozen people with her rare voice ; but of 
course it would seem ungracious in the extreme 
to refuse her hostess such a request; and so 
she sat herself down to her unwilling task. 
Soon she became interested, and made her se- 
lections carefully ; for it was Kate’s way to do 
with care and painstaking anything which she 
had to do. The rain had passed away, and the 
evening was clear and cold. There was quite 
a handsome congregation in the little Clinton 
meeting-house that evening, and Kate sat and 
listened curiously to the quaint remarks of old 
Mr. Wright, and felt more than usually in- 
terested in the prayers which were uttered by 
the simple people, and was glad and soothed 
in heart that they seemed to enjoy her singing. 
It was something to have one and another, at 
the close, grasp her hand with a warm pressure, 
with words like these : “ Your singing did me 
so much good”; and “I just wish you could 
always be here to meet with us.” 

When Mr. Percival gave an opportunity to 
those who desired to be Christians to make it 
known, and a great, awkward, plain-looking 
girl on the back seat rose and said, “Pray for 
me,” in common with the others, Kate bowed 
her head, and felt her eyes growing misty. 

On the way home, she asked Mrs. Knox two 
questions. One was, if Miss Eichie still cher- 
ished the desire to be a missionary. 

“ She will never give it up, I think, my dear,” 
8 


114 


An Hundred-Fold. 


replied the good woman; *‘bnt, in my opinion, 
Edna is enough of a missionary right here in 
Clinton. There’s lots of ignorance about Christ 
right here, Katie. That poor girl who said, 
‘Pray for me’ — oh, dear! she is so ignorant, 
poor child!” 

Then this was Kate’s other question: “Do 
you think, Mrs. Knox, that such people are of 
any advantage to a church ? ” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Knox, “ I will let Ar- 
thur answer that question.” 

Kate’s letter arrived at Mr. Belmont’s while 
the family were engaged in eating supper the 
next evening. The carrier rang the bell, and 
Mamie and Brownie ran a race to the door to 
get the letter. 

“It looks just exactly like Kate’s writing,” 
said Mamie, whose perceptions were of the 
keenest. “ See, Harold ! Don’t you remember 
the queer B’s she used to make? And the T 
has a curl to it — such a queer curl! — and her 
B’s are the strangest things that I ever saw. 
Brownie used to call them ‘ pigtails.’ ” 

“Let me have it, daughter,” said the Doctor; 
“and perhaps mamma would like for you to 
finish your supper.” 

Then he soon retired to his study. In a few 
moments, however, he reappeared, and called 
his wife and Harold to a consultation. They 
followed him to the study, and closed the door. 

Harold was the first to speak : “ Is the letter 
from Kate, father?” 

His father nodded. He could not trust him- 
self to speak. 

“Oh! I felt sure that we would hear from 


Kate's Letter^ 


115 


her soon,^ said his wife, cheerily, wheeling for- 
ward the great arm-chair and motioning to her 
husband to seat himself in.it, while she occu- 
pied the little sofa. ‘‘ Children are thoughtless 
about giving their parents the heartache — more 
thoughtless than wicked, I think. It isn’t best 
to worry too much about these things. God is 
sufficient for even them.” 

“ I know it, Lucia,” said the Doctor ; “ but I 
don’t see how I can be a father and not worry 
to some extent. To be sure, Kate is all right, 
and among friends, though not at Allen’s. She 
writes me that they are very ill at his house, 
Harold.” 

“ How long is she intending to stay, and where 
is she ? ” asked Harold. 

“ She is at Mrs. Knox’s, at Clinton, and she 
is not coming home at all. She has ordered 
her trunk sent on to her, and she intends to get 
employment as a school teacher. I will not 
read you the letter; I do not see that it will do 
any good. What I wish is your counsel.” 

“Kate is so strange,” said Harold, indignant- 
ly. “There is really no doing anything with 
her. She is so positive about everything. She 
won’t reason a particle, but just rushes along in 
obedience to her feelings. If she had just 
thought over this calmly, she wouldn’t have 
done this thing. I wouldn’t have had it occur 
for anything, either. Everybody will be talk- 
ing about it and asking questions. It is so 
humiliating.” 

“ How would it do,” suggested Mrs. Belmont, 
persuasively, “to take the first train in the 
morning, papa, and go and see her? Perhaps 


116 


An Hundred- Fold. 


a little coaxing might help matters wonderfully. 
Most girls like to be coaxed ; and, perhaps if 
you can convince her, papa, that we love her, 
she may be induced to return with you. I wish 
she would.” 

Harold raised his eyes quickly, and gave his 
stepmother a searching look, as if he doubted 
the truth of her assertion. Then, turning to his 
father, he said : “ I believe that to be a good 
suggestion, father ; Kate will listen to you if to 
anybody, and I suppose it is right enough to 
try persuasion.” 

“ Look in the Gazette and see when the train 
starts in the morning,” said Mr. Belmont. 

“Nine-thirty,” said Harold, after glancing at 
the time-table. “Will you go, sir?” 

“I think I will.” 

The next morning the anxious brother stood 
on the depot-platform and watched his father 
go steaming out upon his mission ; and as he 
turned away to go to his daily work he breathed 
a prayer for the wayward sister who had left 
her home and friends. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

A HARD HEART, 

K ate was sitting in the pleasant parlor at 
Mrs. Knox’s trying to interest herself in 
a missionary magazine which her hostess 
had given her to read. 

“I want you to attend our missionary meet- 
ing while you are here, Kate,” she said, as she 
opened the book and laid it on her guest’s lap.” 
There is an article on Japan I should like you to 
read. Put this bit of ribbon in to keep the place ; 
and here is another about a poor old grey- headed 
woman in India who became a disciple of our 
blessed Jesus. Her trials were almost over- 
whelming — at least we would have considered 
them so; but her faith, simple and child-like, 
was perfectly astonishing. She saw Jesus in 
everything. I tell you, my dear, I felt rebuked 
when I read it. Sometimes it does seem to me 
that the heathen are going to enter into the 
kingdom ahead of us. But I have wandered 
away from our little society. It is a little so- 
ciety, of course ; you could hardly expect any- 
thing else. There are only ten of us altogether, 
and very often there are only three or four in 
attendance; but we always manage to have a 
good time, especially when Edna can be there. 
She does us all good. Her knowledge is so ex- 
tensive that it is a treat to hear her talk. But 
her school duties interfere so that she cannot 
often meet with us. I want you to meet Mrs. 
117 


118 


An Hundred-Fold, 


Gwynne ; I am sure you will feel drawn toward 
her; she is a little Welsh woman, the dearest 
little body. Just as full of spiritual fire as she 
can be, and wide awake on every subject. She 
came from the old country only a few years ago, 
and it is a little hard to understand all she says, 
but I always feel after hearing her talk as if I 
had had something good to eat. Then, you 
know, we make a habit of gathering all the in- 
teresting items we can, and we keep our mite- 
boxes on the mantel, and drop our pennies and 
nickels in whenever we feel that we have some- 
thing special to thank God for ; and very often we 
tell the history of them — have a kind of experi- 
ence meeting, you know. W e save all our litera- 
ture, too, and send it off to needy fields, and we 
do a great deal of sewing, making over old gar- 
ments and cutting out and making new ones. 
Last year we sent a box out West, which the 
missionaries said was worth fifty dollars to 
them. But, of course, my dear, you know all 
about missionary meetings. In as large place 
as Oakland you must have quite an army in 
motion. You must forgive my clatter, but I 
am so interested in all these good things.” 

Kate assured her that she was very much 
interested ‘in her account of the little society, 
and further made the remark that she had an 
idea that little Clinton was putting Oakland to 
shame, as it was, in comparison, doing the 
larger and grander work. She also spoke of 
Miss Richie, and hoped that she would meet 
her often. 

“You shall,” said the little lady, emphatic- 
ally. “ I intend to endeavor my l3est to bring 


A Hard Heart 


119 


you two together. She must spend the day 
with us to-morrow. I consider it a religious 
duty to get her out of her stuffy little boarding 
place as often as possible. And now, I must 
be off. There are sick folks in the village that 
I really must go to see,” and the good woman 
bustled out of the room, and soon after Kate 
looked out of the window and saw her trudging 
briskly down the street with a large basket on 
her arm, containing tempting delicacies, and a 
big umbrella over her head ; for it was snow- 
ing steadily and quite hard. 

“I never saw such a woman,” said she to 
herself, resuming her seat by the fire. “She 
thinks of nothing else except taking care of 
somebody. There’s that woman and her chil- 
dren in the house, instead of a good, strong 
hired girl ; and for nothing else, I know, than 
to keep them out of the infirmary. I don’t 
believe in being too good. I think it is much 
more her duty to stay in out of the wet to-day, 
and take care of herself, than to be posting off 
after those sick folks. I haven’t a single 
doubt but those people she thinks it her duty 
to visit would get on very well indeed without 
her, and I presume they have all that’s good 
for them. I wouldn’t do it. She will never 
get any thanks for it.” 

Poor Kate ! With a vague discontent at her 
heart, she listlessly turned the leaves of the 
magazine, and tried to become interested in it, 
more because she feared Mrs. Knox might ask 
her some very bright, knowing questions about 
it than because she really wished to know any- 
thing about the people who were “sitting in 


120 


An Hundred- Fold. 


the darkness and shadow of death.” But the 
effort was entirely unavailing, and with a tired, 
disgusted “Pshaw!” she threw it on the table, 
and turned away to the window. 

Life was an exceedingly unpleasant thing to 
Kate this afternoon. She felt lonely and mis- 
erable, and though she would not have acknow- 
ledged it for anything, she was homesick. She 
longed for a sight of the old house that was 
dear to her from a thousand associations. She 
was tired enough of visiting already, and 
vainly wished for the old routine of work with 
which to while away the weary hours. The 
lonesome feeling deepened into an intense 
heartache, and the frown on her face grew 
darker as she mused over her situation. 

“I don’t see,” she murmured, “how any one 
can believe that troubles and sorrows and 
things like that bring a person nearer to God. 
I am sure they never would me. If I believed 
for a moment, like some people pretend to, 
that God had sent all these hateful things upon 
me, I couldn’t love him at all. There is some- 
thing so awfully cruel and unjust about it. I 
hate such a doctrine.” 

Kate’s face was dark with her clouded emo- 
tions, and she struck the window-sill with such 
force as to make the window rattle; but the 
next moment the flush died out of her face, 
leaving it pale and frightened ; she drew in her 
breath hard, and trembled exceedingly; for 
some one had stopped at the gate, opened it, 
and was coming up the brick walk to the front 
door. Some one that Kate knew. Her father. 

She sat down and, picking up the discarded 


A Hard Heart. 


121 


magazine, pretended to be very much occupied ; 
so much so that she did not appear to notice 
Hetty until she had said the second time: 
“Miss Belmont, a gentleman to see you.” 

She looked up then, and in her heart of 
hearts she felt sorry. Her father stood before 
her, seeming to have grown old in two days’ 
time. The old tender look was there in his 
eyes just as it had always been for her, but it 
was coupled with an expression of such deep 
and pitiful sorrow and reproach that Kate’s 
eyes fell before it. It was like coals of fire to 
her when he wound a loving arm about her and 
tenderly kissed her, saying : “ My dear daughter ; 
my dear, dear Kate.” Mr. Belmont’s voice 
shook ; he could say no more. 

“Why did you come?” Kate asked, recover- 
ing herself, and drawing away from his embrace. 

“Didn’t you expect I would?” taking the 
chair she offered him, and seating himself. 
“My dear child, there was nothing else to do.” 

“ I wish you had let me alone,” exclaimed 
Kate, passionately. “You know very well that 
I cannot live with you any longer, and you 
know why. I stayed just as long as I could, 
and a great deal longer than I should — a great 
deal longer than I was wanted, too.” 

“ My darling, you are so mistaken,” said her 
father, with a sad smile. “You are not led by 
the Spirit of the Master in reaching these con- 
clusions. I fear that you have wilfully misun- 
derstood Mrs. Belmont and her children. They 
did not come into our home to drive you out ; 
nothing could be farther from their thoughts. 
My wife has been exceedingly anxious from the 


122 


An Hundred- Fold. 


first to concede everything, and I am sure Nel- 
lie is the very soul of amiability and gentle- 
ness.” 

“Oh! of course!'' exclaimed Kate, sneeringly. 
“I have no doubt they are all perfection in 
your eyes — perfect angels! I don’t suppose 
they could do anything wrong if they tried.” 

Mr. Belmont did not answer this outburst for 
some minutes, but sat, if possible, a little 
straighter in his chair, and looked gravely at 
his tempest of a daughter, who grew more and 
more uneasy under the steady glance, and 
finally broke into tears. Then he spoke : “ My 
dear,” said he very gently, “you have wandered 
very far away from the right path. I cannot 
believe that it is my own good daughter Kate 
that I find hiding in her secret heart such bit- 
ter, bitter thoughts of me.” 

“I can’t help what you think,” she sobbed, 
softening a little under the influence of his ten- 
derness, but yet resisting with all her might. 
“It don’t seem right in me to forget my own 
dear mother who is lying in the cemetery, and 
take a stranger to my bosom in her place. I 
am too true to her to do it, no matter what you 
or any one else may think of me.” 

“You are not asked to do it, Kate, and your 
reason tells you so this minute,” said her father, 
gravely. “I, above all others, desire you to 
remember your own mother with constant and 
imperishable affection ; but I do desire you to 
respect my present wife, and I thought that 
you loved me too well to refuse to do that, dar- 
ling.” 

Kate did not answer, and Mr. Belmont went 


A Hard Heart 


123 


on : “ Mrs. Belmont desired me to entreat you 
to return home, at least, as soon as you have 
visited long enough. I wish you would go 
back with me to-day. Our household is not 
complete without you. Overcome your foolish 
pride, my love, and return, and make up your 
mind to be happy, and make others so. I do 
not think, Katie, that it is necessary for me 
to assure you of our affection, but if so, I will 
say we all love you — we want you. Will you 
not come?” 

For a moment Kate wavered. The thought 
of home and her father’s sweet protection came 
over her like a flood, and threatened to over- 
whelm her for the time. But again she resisted, 
and again her heart hardened. 

‘‘No,” she said; “I did right to come away; 
I know I did, and I may as well stay away 
now.” 

Again an interval of silence. Mr. Belmont 
was angry, and according to custom, he very 
rarely spoke when in an unusual heat. When 
at last he did speak, his voice was as soft and 
low and gentle as a woman’s. 

“ It is a matter of great regret, Katie, that 
you have chosen the course you have, I think. 
I believe you will come in course of time to re- 
gret it yourself. But, my dear daughter, if you 
will not take any one’s counsel, experience must 
be your teacher, and a very severe one it is 
sometimes, too. However, if you are resolved 
to become her pupil, I do not know that it is 
my duty to interfere further. I will only say, 
darling, that I wish that I could feel that the 
Lord is with you, and, if at any time you should 


124 


An Hundred- Fold. 


regret it, and want to come back to papa, I hope 
you will remember that there is aways a ' light 
in the window for you.’ But I do wish I could 
prevail upon you to return with me now.” 

Again the softened feeling struggling in her 
breast, and again the resistance and hardening. 
“No,” said she, “T will not.” 

“Not for the children’s sake — not for mine?” 

“ No ; I am not going to sacrifice myself ; I’ve 
done everything for the children and got no 
thanks for it, and I’m done with them. I have 
about made up my mind never to care for any- 
body any more.” 

A deep sigh broke from the anxious father’s 
breast. “ Oh, if the Lord would only soften 
that hard heart of yours, my daughter;” then, 
rising, he laid a roll of bank-bills on the table, 
bent down and took her in his arms, kissing 
her tenderly, and the next moment he had left 
the house, and Kate found herself sitting soli- 
tary and alone, with a heart which felt like a 
stone in her bosom. 


CHAPTER XY. 

MAMIE^8 PARTY. 

T he children stood at the south window 
talking earnestly together in whispers. It 
was a lovely morning. The weather had 
moderated to an unusual degree, making the 
air, for the time, quite balmly and spring-like, 
and the sun shone in warm and bright at the 
south window of the sitting-room. 

Mrs. Belmont was busy tidying up the sitting- 
room, and smiled on the little whisperers as she 
pushed the sweeper near their little feet, and 
gave them each an affectionate pat; but she 
did not ask them for their secret, but went on 
singing the verse of a little hymn that was very 
dear to her. 

‘ ‘ Nearer the bound of life, 

Where burdens are laid down, 

Nearer to laying down the cross, 

Nearer to wearing the crown.” 

“Why do you sing that particular verse so 
much, mamma?” asked Elinor from her cozy 
corner by the fireside, where her pale, thin 
hands were busily fashioning a slumber-robe 
out of bright wools. “I always notice that 
you sing that one so much more than another, 
and you seem to get so much enjoyment out of 
it. You look extremely happy at any rate, 
though you are an especially happy-looking 
mamma any way.” 

The habitual tender smile on Mrs. Belmont’s 
125 


126 


An Hundred-Fold, 


face beamed brightly on her young daughter, 
as she replied: “I am a happy mamma, and I 
ought to be. God has given me su5h a glo- 
rious trust to fulfil — such a beautiful garden of 
immortelles to cultivate for him. But about 
the verse, my darling. Somehow that verse of 
that precious hymn of Phoebe Carey’s, which 
has doubtless been the means of lifting up thou- 
sands of burdened hearts, always has been, and 
is to-day, a special comfort to my soul. It 
takes all the worries out, and I can endure life’s 
hardnesses better when reminded of the fact 
that I am one day nearer my Father’s house on 
high. I think, my precious daughter, that we 
count too much on having a good time in this 
world, when it isn’t the world to have a good 
time in. The cross is the burden which this 
world lays upon us ; we are obliged to carry it 
whether or no. I wonder we are so slow to be- 
lieve the words of Christ, ‘ In this world ye shall 
have tribulation.’” 

‘‘Mamma,” asked Nellie, softly, “isn’t the 
cross you are bearing now almost insupport- 
able ? I should think you would feel as if you 
must lay that down.” 

“ Not yet,” said the mother brightly, “ not till 
I feel sure, Nellie dear, that I have won these 
souls as stars for my crown. It is too soon 
yet, my darling, to despair. 

‘ There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, 

Like the wideness of the sea.’ 

He has given me this field of labor, and if it 
needs a greal deal of patient cultivation to make 
it productive, I need not be dismayed, or even 
surprised. I know there will be a harvest by- 


127 


Mamie's Party. 

and-by. I feel confident that there are hid- 
den riches in my field of labor, that will grow 
up into evergreen life and burst into wonderful 
bloom by-and-by.” 

“Blessed mother!” exclaimed Nellie, softly; 
“ your faith is like a rock. Sometimes it seems 
to me that you have a real tangible hold on 
Christ. Even now, when our domestic sky is so 
cloudy, you can go on serenely, smiling away as 
if there was nothing to worry about. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Belmont, brushing the 
hearth with a little whisk broom, “there isn’t 
anything to worry about in reality. If, as the 
Bible says, ‘ All things work together for good 
to them that love God,’ why should we worry ? 
If the trials and tribulations of life are to work 
into eternal glory, we should be glad of a super- 
abundance of troubles, for the more sorrow the 
more joy, you know; the heavier the cross, the 
brighter and more resplendent the crown. 
Jesus tells us it is our duty to rejoice in tribu- 
lation, and I believe we ought to; if only I 
could always do it. My dear, my faith is not so 
much like a rock as it may seem to you. Say, 
rather, that it is founded upon a rock.” 

“ It is not so hard, mamma, knowing all this, 
for me to say something which it has been on 
my mind to say to you a great while. It has 
been impressed upon me very often of late, 
dear mamma, that I shall not live to be a 
woman. Do you know, mamma, that I very 
much wish that I may not. I do so dread 
being a helpless burden on my friends, that is 
a cross that it does seem that I cannot bear ; 
and it will be such a comfort for me to go. 


128 


An Hundred-Fold. 


You must have seen, mamma, of course you 
know, that I am not exactly welcome here, that 
is, not as welcome as I might be, anyway, and 
it seems to crush all the heart right out of me, 
and make me long to die.” 

Mrs. Belmont turned her face away for a 
moment, but when she turned it towards her 
daughter again, it wore the same sweet, bright 
smilejit had all the morning. 

“There are some flowers,” said she, “that 
breathe the greater fragrance for being crushed. 
I have seen my lily of the valley drooping her 
head; I have seen my flower fading, and I 
have been trying to say the Lord’s own prayer, 
‘Thy will, not mine be done.’” 

“ You know, dear mamma,” continued Nellie, 
“that I have the seeds of lingering consumption 
in my blood; papa died of it. I remember 
that dreadful cough of his as far back as I can 
remember ; and, mamma, I have a cough that 
you have been trying to doctor for some time.” 

“I know it, my darling. It is like the knell 
of tolling bells in mamma’s ears.” 

“Doctoring it will do no good, mamma, pre- 
cious mamma,” said the girl, laying down her 
work and winding her clinging arms about her 
mother’s neck; “my voice is failing; I could 
hardly sustain my part on Christmas Eve, and 
I shall never sing that way again. Still, 
mamma, I may stay a long time to be your 
burdensome comfort yet.” 

Mrs. Belmont hushed her with a tearful kiss. 

“So, mamma,” said she, “I have my cross 
to bear, too, and I shall need to learn Miss 
Carey’s song myself, and if it should be that I 


Mamie's Party. 129 

cannot sing it with my voice, I shall always, I 
hope, be able to sing it in my heart.” 

Meanwhile, the little girl and boy were still 
busy whispering in the sunny south window. 
Mamie seemed to be urging Brownie to do 
something which, for some reason, he was not 
inclined to do. 

“ Oh ! no, Mamie,” he whispered plaintively, 
“I don’t want to. I would so much raver you 
would.” 

‘‘But I want you to. Brownie,” insisted 
Mamie, with a little imperious frown. “It’s 
better for you to ask her than me, cause it’s for 
me, and you’re the littlest, and, I guess she 
likes you the best, anyway. Go on, now, that’s 
a good boy.” 

“ Oh ! no, Mamie,” pleaded the little fellow, 
“not dust now. She’s talking to Nellie, she is.” 

“ You’re a real naughty little brother,” whis- 
pered Mamie, very much displeased, “and I 
shan’t be able to love you half so well. I think 
you might do it, for you always share in every 
nice time I have ; you know yon do.” 

“Why can’t us both go, Mamie? ” asked the 
dear little boy, slipping his hand into his sister’s 
coaxingly. “We can, can’t us?” 

“ Why, no,” replied Mamie, impatiently. “ It 
would’nt look half so well. You just go right 
up to her and tell her that Kate — no, I 
wouldn’t say that, either ; that I always have a 
little birthday party, and to-day’s the day. 
That’s all. It’s as easy as anything. Eun 
along, now. Don’t wait another minute.” 

But the little fellow did wait several minutes, 
and it took a good deal more urging before he 
9 


130 


An Hundred- fold. 


finally consented to slowly, oh, so very slowly, 
cross the room with his little fat forefinger in 
his month, and his eyes fixed upon his dainty 
little feet. Having arrived at the end of his 
journey, which was directly in front of his step- 
mother, he began with a little tremble in his 
voice: “Mamie and I always has a little party 
on our birfday, don’t us, Mamie ? ” with an ap- 
pealing look at the little sister. 

“ On mine,'' emphasized Mamie, drawing 
near, now that the subject was introduced. 
“Kate always made me a little party on my 
birthday because mamma did, and Brownie 
always comes, of course, because he’s my 
brother, and lives here ; but he’s the only boy 
that comes.” 

“ Yes,” said Brownie, nodding his pretty head 
encouragingly, “dust me; ’at’s all.” 

“And when is your birthday, darling” asked 
Mrs. Belmont, winding an arm about the little 
girl and clasping the boy’s dimpled hand, while 
she bent her smiling eyes upon them. 

“To-day,” said Mamie, and “ To-day,” echoed 
Brownie, with a cunning smack of his lips as 
he added, by way of making things plain, that 
they always had a frosted cake and a whole lot 
of cinnamon pies — “ ’ittle teenty bits of ones.” 

“Well, now,” said Mrs. Belmont, “what a 
mamma I am, to be sure, to be so unprepared 
for my children’s birthdays ! I shall take care 
that it does not happen again. But this is 
Saturday, and such a busy Saturday. Nellie, 
can you help me out?” 

“Maybe they would like a taffy-pulling,” 
suggested Nellie, pausing in her work. “Al- 


131 


Mamies Party. 

most all children enjoy them, and we could 
manage to have it very early in the evening, 
after the work is done.” 

‘‘Oh! that will be splendid — just like big 
folks I ” exclaimed Mamie, rapturously. “ I’ll 
go and invite the girls right away.” 

“Whom do you have, my dear?” asked Mrs. 
Belmont. 

“Why, I always have the Custer girls; but 
I forgot — they’re all gone away; and Bessie 
Temple, but she’s sick; and Myrtle Budd is 
mad with me. There won’t be anybody to come, 
after all.” 

“ Why, that’s bad,” said the mother, kindly, 
giving the disappointed face a kiss; “but I 
wonder if we can’t fix it. How would my girlie 
like one of Christ’s kind of parties? Do you 
remember what he says about it in the Bible ? ” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“He tells us that when we make a party, we 
ought to invite lame folks and blind folks, and 
those who have no nice things to eat. Now, I 
have seen a good many little girls, right here 
in our Sunday-school, who look as if they had 
never been to a taffy-pulling in their lives. 
How would you like to invite them, my dar- 
ling?” 

“ Do you mean such folks as the Beech girls 
that Kate used to give my old clothes to?” 
asked Mamie. “ Why, they never were here in 
their lives, and they look just like beggars.” 

“Don’t you know that we are all beggars?” 
asked her mother, softly. “ God’s beggars, Ma- 
mie, dependent upon his bounty for everything 
that we have in the world. Jesus was especially 


132 


An Hundred-Fold, 


the friend of the poor when he was on earth, 
and I thought that my little Mamie would enjoy 
doing them a kindness for his sake.” 

Mamie looked abashed ; her face flushed. 

‘‘ Why, I would like to do it, real well,” said 
she, hesitatingly, “ only it seems queer, because 
nobody else does it.” 

“I fink it would be bootiful, dust bootiful!” 
said Brownie, in high excitement. “Le’s ask 
Letty Baker, too, Mamie, ’cause she’s weal 
lame and walks wiv a stick, and she papa 
drinks whicksey, and never do give her any 
cinnamon pies at all. Harry say so.” 

“Well,” said Mamie, “we will, and I’ll ask 
those Dustan girls. They never do have any- 
thing, hardly. If only Clyde was here to help 
me with the invitations ! ” 

At this opportune moment Clyde came in, 
and very obligingly consented to help in any 
way desired ; so, within a few minutes, all was 
hurry and bustle. 

“We’ll have to manage the frosted cake and 
cinnamon pies in some way,” said Mrs. Bel- 
mont to Nellie; “Brownie’s heart is set upon 
them.” 

The Belmont house was alive with children 
that evening — children with worn shoes and 
faded dresses, but with the gladdest, happiest 
faces and hearts that you ever saw ; and Mrs. 
Belmont was the greatest child of them all, 
helping them play blindfold and hide-the-thim- 
ble with all the ardor of her evergreen youth, 
while Mr. Belmont stirred the taffy, and Harold 
and Nellie dipped it into saucers and showed 
them how to pull it until it was white and glis- 


Mamies Party, 


133 


tening. In a word, the party after Christ’s pat- 
tern did good and was an unbounded success. 
Above all, it taught Mamie a lesson which she 
never forgot. For the first time in her life, she 
had tried to do a practical good in the name of 
Jesus, and she experienced a happiness that 
was altogether new to her. She even declared 
that she would always give invitations to those 
who could not repay her again. “For,” she 
whispered to her mamma, as she tucked her 
into her little bed, “I know now what those 
words mean, ‘It is more blessed to give than 
to receive,’ and I think, like Brownie, that it is 
‘dust bootiful.’ ” 


CHAPTEE XYL 

WARD IN TROUBLE. 

“ TTTHEKE does Ward spend his even- 
Y Y ings? ” was the anxious inquiry of Dr. 

Belmont, as he looked up from his 
newspaper, one stormy evening, and glanced 
around the room at the family group. There 
was mother seated in the low rocker with 
Brownie’s fair curls afloat upon her shoulder, 
engaged in the fascinating employment of story- 
telling; Nellie was at the piano trying to teach 
Mamie'and Clyde a new song; and the clang 
of the hall-door announced the arrival of Harold 
from the store; but where was Ward? This 
was becoming a troublesome question to them 
all, and an extremely anxious one to Dr. Bel- 
mont, his wife, and Harold. In fact, the boy 
was getting more and more unapproachable. 
The sullen reserve of his face seemed to be 
deepening each day, and the children missed 
the old-fashioned teasing they were used to 
from brother Ward. 

Mrs. Belmont had her thoughts about what 
might be, regarding his whereabouts, but she 
had no proof of their truth, and she was not 
the woman to give voice to unpleasant suspi- 
cions, and she dreaded to add anything more 
to the already burdened heart of the weary 
pastor. Besides, this good Christian woman 
had an unbounded faith in prayer, and was she 
not putting up special petitions in behalf of 


134 


Ward In Trouhle. 


135 


this boy whose heart was turned against her 
with the very bitterness of death ? Meanwhile, 
Kate’s friend, Lucy Eansom, was watching, 
together with her mother and Aunt Sarah Bush, 
with eagle eyes the daily life of the Belmonts, 
and drawing her own conclusions, the result 
of which was letters of condolence to Kate, 
in which it was confidently stated that her 
poor, dear brother Ward was allowed in the 
house hardly long enough to take his meals, 
and that if he was driven to the bad, there 
would be no one to thank for it except that 
miserable stepmother ; and Mrs. Belmont knew 
there were unpleasant remarks made about her. 
She felt it in the atmosphere of the church, and 
perceived it in the indignant side-glances cast 
in her direction, and hidden in the anxious 
queries regarding Kate; but though all this 
hurt, it did not move her in the least; and no 
one would have known from her outward bear- 
ing that her inward serenity was in the least 
disturbed. Above all, she was extremely 
anxious that her husband should not get hold 
of these reports. For his sake the domestic 
sea must be an unruffled one, and so she 
answered in her usual bright, cheery way: 
‘‘Ward is just enjoying an evening out with 
some of the boys, George. You musn’t forget 
that you were a boy yourself, once, and that 
the outside world had charms for you. I am 
afraid you are growing old.” 

Brownie raised his golden head from its 
resting-place, and turned to meet his father’s 
troubled eyes. 

“I sawed him an’ Jud Tavlor out in the 


136 


An Hundred- Fold, 


wood -shed when I goed to get chips for break- 
fus, an’ Jud, he say to Ward ’at he mus’ go wiv 
him to Fwytzes to play. An’ Ward, he say he 
have no money, an’ ’nen Jud, he say he know 
where to get some.” 

Brownie’s story caused quite a sensation, 
which Mrs. Belmont strove to quell in vain. 
“I presume he has some little scheme on hand,” 
said she, lightly. “Boys are always having 
their little secrets, you know, and want to be 
trying all sorts of experiments. Clyde, here, 
has already emptied his pocket-book two or 
three times trying to make magic-lanterns and 
steam-engines, and one thing and another.” 

Harold, who had come in in time to catch 
the drift of the conversation, bent a searching 
look on his stepmother. Her calm, quiet, 
smiling, untroubled face bore no evidence of 
the ache in her anxious soul ; and Harold won- 
dered, with just a touch of scorn and bitterness 
in his heart, whether she could dismiss the case 
so lightly if the boy had been hers by right of 
birth. Then he turned to his father, saying: 
“ I think, sir, it may be as well to let the young 
gentleman answer for himself. He can, pro- 
bably, furnish better information regarding his 
evening pastimes than any other member of the 
family.” This was very sarcastic for Harold. 

“Yes,” returned Dr. Belmont, folding his 
paper, “that is, if he will. But you know your- 
self, Harry, that Ward is a strange boy. His 
mother was the only one whom he ever seemed 
especially to care for, and who had any lasting 
influence over him. He seems perverse, and 
more, he really seems to delight in being so. I 


^ard in Trouhle. 


137 


have spoken to him a number of times in re- 
gard to his evenings out, but I cannot get any 
satisfaction out of him. He puts me off with 
some plausible excuse or another; and I think 
that he resents my inquiring into what, at his 
age, a boy is apt to consider his own affairs 
alone. I acknowledge that his resentment has 
made me somewhat slow about insisting upon 
knowing the whole truth, for I do not want 'to 
drive the boy away from me ; but I really must 
try to look into these things. I am beginning 
to be afraid that everything is not just what it 
should be. Who is this Jud Taylor, Har- 
old?” 

“Zack Taylor’s boy. He lives just around 
the corner, on Oak street. You know the old 
gentleman well enough.” 

‘‘Well, what kind of a boy is Jud?” 

Harold was standing before the fire drying 
his feet and picking his teeth. He set down 
his foot firmly and with something of irritation 
as he replied : “ He is a boy that I haven’t any 
use for.” 

Mr. Belmont turned quickly. 

“Do you mean that he is not a good boy?” 
he inquired, anxiously. 

“He is not what I should call a good boy,” 
returned Harold, reluctantly. “Of course I 
don’t know anything especially about him, only 
reports that I have heard ; but it seems to me 
that his looks are enough for anybody.” 

“What kind of a place is this Fritz’s, where 
Brownie said they were going to play; and 
what sort of games do they indulge in there; 
and why is money required ? I don’t like the 


138 An Hundred- Fold, 

looks of that,” persisted the minister, anxi- 
ously. 

“Well,” said Harold, again quite reluctantly, 
“Fritz’s is what the fellows call the ‘Monkey 
Kanch.’ It’s a place of amusement down street. 
I was never in there, to be sure, but I have 
been told that they play ninepins and cards, 
and I believe that they have a small pool-table 
in there. Will Kingsley was drawn in there 
the other evening by a set of fellows, and he 
told me, when he came out, that it ‘was the 
awfullest place he ever was in.’ But then, of 
course, you know how Kingsley has been 
brought up — ^just as tenderly as a baby. He 
has never seen anything outside of the home 
circle, hardly.” 

“And he is a better young man because of 
it — much better,” said his father, who was a 
firm believer in the protection of home, and 
who dreaded the vices of the world for his 
children almost as much as a woman would do. 
“Do you know, Harry, whether they gamble 
over these games or not ? ” 

“They are not' supposed to, sir; but when 
the police are far enough away, I wouldn’t trust 
their honor very far. They manage to spend 
money on them some way, at any rate. Those 
who lose at ninepins are obliged to pay a cer- 
tain sum, I understand; and the lookers-on bet 
on the cards and pool-players, if there are not 
any regular stakes.” 

“And, of course,” said the minister, with 
considerable indignation, “I understand, and 
you do also, that that is no place for Ward to 
spend his evenings. A boy of his brain sub- 


Ward in Trouble. 


139 


mitting himself to trash like that ! I never ex- 
pected a boy of mine to meddle with cards or 
anything of that kind. And, aside from its be- 
ing an injury to him, look how it will hurt my 
influence ! How can a minister hope to be suc- 
cessful in saving other people’s boys when his 
own boy is walking in the broad way as fast as 
his feet can carry him ? I don’t suppose that 
I am fit to bring up children. Couldn’t you 
try to do something with him, Harold ? ” 

‘‘ He won’t listen to me,” said Harold, drop^ 
ping into a chair. “I have talked to him ever 
so many times, but, as you say, he seems to re- 
sent it. He is young, too, to be declaring his 
independence, it seems to me.” 

‘‘Yes,” said his father; “it must certainly be 
seen to. I have so much crowding upon me! 
The president of the college wants me to preach 
to the students Sunday afternoon, but I do not 
see how I am to do it ; and there is that tem- 
perance lecture at the city hall that I have to 
deliver Thursday evening, and here it is Tues- 
day, and I am not half prepared yet. I really 
have not time to do justice to my family. I 
must try to get to the bottom of this business 
of Ward’s, however, and put a stop to it. I am 
very much distressed over it.” 

At this moment there came a decided ring at 
the door-bell, and Harold ushered in two bro- 
ther-ministers, who had called to arrange for 
certain union meetings in behalf of the city. 
In discussing these spiritual matters, the do- 
mestic affair which had occupied the mind of 
the good Doctor when they came in was com- 
pletely obliterated. They stayed until a late 


140 


An Hundred-Fold. 


hour ; and as Harold went up to bed at about 
half-past ten o’clock, he said to himself, with a 
sigh : “Father will not think of Ward again for 
a month. He is so swallowed up with these 
religious movements — and no one can blame 
him, I’m sure — that he hasn’t time to look af- 
ter his family ; it is just as he says. He is as 
good a father as ever was, too ; but he isn’t fit 
to manage Ward. Ward will be going off, just 
as Kate did, some of these days, and dear 
knows how it will all end.” 

And yet Harold had not the courage to lay 
his strong young hand on the boyish heart of 
his brother and lead him to Jesus for the sal- 
vation that he so much needed. How strange 
it was that this young man, who was one of 
the most efficient leaders in the Y. P. S., whose 
voice was heard in prayer and testimony every 
Sunday evening, and who found it a compara- 
tively easy thing to talk to the dying souls 
around him, should lack the courage to rescue 
his own brother, who was sweeping so swiftly 
towards the rapids in the river of life ! True, 
he had talked to him sometimes — even tried to 
expostulate with him — but he had not laid hold 
of his brother’s soul and held on to it, as he 
had done many others ; and it was because he 
was the weaker and more timid nature of the 
two, and dreaded an encounter with Ward’s 
caustic tongue. 

And how about the stepmother? Had she 
done anything to win this soul for Christ, aside 
from the prayers she had put up in her closet? 
Well, if looking after his comfort, consulting 
his table tastes, and spending money for inter- 


Ward in Trouble, 


141 


esting books, pleasant pictures, and intellectual 
games to scatter about bis room, were anything; 
she was constant and untiring in her efforts; 
she even went beyond this, and invited in young 
company, furnished them with the nicest re- 
freshments, and got up nice little musical enter- 
tainments to tempt the boy to love her and his 
home, instead of evil companions and the street, 
and yet, with quiet, cool, and scornful disdain 
Ward shut the door after him night after night, 
and walked off down town without a word. 
More than this, he had become very irregular 
in his attendance at both Sunday-school, and 
at high-school during the week, so that he had 
been complained of by his teachers more than 
once. 

The next morning, before they had arisen 
from their slumbers, a messenger came for Dr. 
Belmont to attend the funeral of a valued friend 
some distance away. He had only time to 
eat a hurried breakfast and get to the depot in 
time for the train. Harold, too, who travelled 
considerably in the interests of the house with 
which he was connected, was obliged to leave 
that morning on a three-days’ trip, so that Mrs. 
Belmont was left alone with the children, three 
of whom. Ward, Clyde, and Mamie, attended 
school. 

It was ten o’clock, and she was in the kitchen 
preparing dessert for dinner, when the door- 
bell rang violently. Hastily laying aside her 
apron, she went to see what was wanted, for 
she never left Nellie to answer the bell. To 
her surprise, she found awaiting her upon the 
door-step, Mr. Warner, a merchant with whom 


142 


An Hundred-Fold, 


she had traded a good deal since coming to 
Oakland, and who was a member in her hus- 
band’s church ; with him was a police official. 

“Mrs. Belmont, good-morning. I am very 
sorry to intrude. Could we see the Doctor a 
few moments on very pressing business ? ” Mr. 
Warner spoke regretfully. 

“I am sorry to be obliged to say no,” said 
Mrs. Belmont. “He was called out of the city 
and won’t be back before to-morrow some time. 
Will you not come in?” 

Mr. Warner turned to the officer and said 
something in a low tone. The latter seemed to 
suggest something, and the old gentleman 
turned to Mrs. Belmont quickly. “We will 
see Harold at the store. That will, probably, 
answer the purpose.” 

“I am very sorry, but Harold has gone on 
one of his trips for the firm,” said Mrs. Bel- 
mont. Then she asked with some hesitation : 
“Is it anything I can do?” 

Mr. Warner looked at her pityingly. He 
stroked his long grey beard thoughtfully ; then 
he turned to the officer with, “What do you 
think, English?” 

“ She might want to stop proceedings,” said 
the officer. “If you don’t care to prosecute, 
there’s a chance.” 

“Well, then, Mrs. Belmont, if you think you 
can do anything to help matters, v/e will con- 
fide our business to you. No, no, we will stay 
right here in the hall. We will not detain you 
a minute. You must know, Mrs. Belmont, that 
this officer stumbled upon a boy’s gambling- 
den this morning. It was in an old unused 


Ward in TrouVte. 


143 


barn on South street. The mayor has been 
suspicious of some such thing for a good while, 
but he was unprepared to find that every boy 
engaged in the nefarious business were sons of 
our most respectable citizens. The mayor, as 
well as the parents of the lads, would like to 
keep the whole thing a secret if they can; at 
any rate, names will be suppressed if proper 
precautions can be used. The little fellows 
were all arrested, of course, and are subject to 
a fine and costs. They are to have their hear- 
ing before the mayor at eleven o’clock. I am 
dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Belmont, but your hus- 
band’s son Ward was among them, and we 
want to give him a chance. I wish this was 
all, but it is not. I missed a sum of money 
last evening from my cash-drawer when I went 
to remove it to the safe to lock it up for the 
night, and inquiries brought to light the fact 
that the clerk in the store next door to me 
recognized a couple of boys hanging around 
my back door about supper time. Those boys 
were Ward and the Taylor boy. I entered my 
complaint to the police and part of the money 
was found on the Taylor boy. Ward confessed 
that he had gambled his entirely away. It 
seems that the boys have been quite in the 
habit of purloining small sums here and there 
in order to make new ventures and pay up their 
losses, and I guess these two had got in pretty 
deep. Now, my dear lady, I am the Doctor’s 
friend. The whole business is bad enough 
without my making it worse. The sum I lost 
is not a great one, only about thirty dollars. 
If you wish to, and can pay Ward’s share of it. 


144 


An Hundred-Fold. 


and appear before the mayor when the boy has 
his hearing and pay the fine and costs, it will 
be all right. I don’t want to see the boy go to 
jail, and the public need never know, as the 
newspapers will be carefully instructed to sup- 
press all names.” 

A great wave of thankfulness swept through 
Mrs. Belmont’s heart, as she reflected that her 
husband and Harold need never know what 
had happened. Taking Mr. Warner aside, she 
begged him never to let the matter reach their 
ears, as she trusted that this would prove a 
salutary lesson to Ward ; then selecting a roll of 
bills from her own little private income, she told 
Nellie to set a lunch on the table for the chil- 
dren, and took the Madison-avenue car for the 
mayor’s office. 


CHAPTEE XVIL 

TAKING ROOT. 

A S Mrs. Belmont’s stately form crossed the 
threshold of the mayor’s office, Ward, 
who was under examination, and who 
answered the mayor’s questions in a hardened, 
reckless manner, caught sight of her, and a per- 
fectly ferocious look crept over his face, and 
he ground his teeth with rage. The mayor, 
who was disposed to be severe, saw the change 
in his countenance, and attributed it to the 
proper cause. 

“Young man,” said he, impressively, “do 
you know what the officers of the law do with 
insubordinate boys? If the counsels and ad- 
monitions of parents are not heeded, we have 
a place to send them, where they will be ob- 
liged to do what is right, whether they will or 
not. Do you understand what I mean ? ” 

Ward thrust his hands into his pockets, and 
faced the mayor in insulting silence. 

“The work -house and the reform farm are 
not places which would suit your taste very 
well, I dare say,” continued the mayor; “but 
let me tell you that when boys like you throw 
off all home restraint and affection, and become 
public nuisances, that’s exactly where we put 
them. Can you pay your fine, sir? Five dol- 
lars and costs.” 

Until now. Ward had tried to brave it out 
with his usual reckless courage ; but there was 
10 145 


146 


An Hundred-Told. 


not a penny in his pocket, and at the prospect 
of remaining in jail for the night, and until 
either Harold or his father should return and 
appear for him ; of having the disgraceful truth 
known that he had committed a theft to get the 
money with which to gamble ; worst of all, to 
make it possible for his hated stepmother to 
crow over him and to say, in triumph, that she 
had never expected anything better of him; to 
bow his father’s head in grief and tears — for 
Ward yet had some heart left — oh! it was too 
much 1 He grew as pallid as if death had over- 
taken him, and, choked by his strong feelings, 
he shook his head hopelessly in reply to the 
mayor’s question. 

His evident emotion touched the mayor’s 
heart. 

‘•'I am sorry that you have no one to appear 
for you,” he said, “but our rules are the same 
always. You will have to be remanded until 
the sum is paid.” 

Just then a lawyer who stood by the side of 
Mr. Warner stepped forward, with the words: 
“His stepmother appears in his behalf, your 
Honor. She is ready to pay the fine and costs, 
and to stop the prosecution by responding to 
Mr. Warner’s terms — the restoration of the 
balance of the stolen money.” 

“Yery well,” said the mayor; “I am glad to 
hear it.” Then, turning to the boys in custody, 
he said: “You are all free, then, for this time; 
but let me catch you in such a trespass again, 
and I shall see that you are punished to the full 
extent of the law. You have been mercifully 
shielded this time from open disgrace. Let us 


Taking Root. 


147 


hope that it may be a lesson to yon for life.” 
And with these words the case was dismissed. 

Mrs. Belmont returned home determined that 
not one of the family should know from her 
what had happened that morning. She had 
come to know that her husband’s power of 
government was small in his own household, 
and that, instead of Ward being afraid of him, 
he rather disliked to have an encounter with 
Ward; and she hoped that the lesson which 
the boy had received might prove a salutary 
one. So she went home, and, shutting herself 
in her room, poured her complaint into her 
Father’s ear, and rolled the burden off upon 
the sympathizing heart of Jesus. 

She did not expect any immediate results 
from the action of the morning. She had sim- 
ply done what seemed a mother’s duty, and 
she hoped that it might do good. It was not 
this woman’s way to worry over the results of 
her labor. She felt — believed to the full — that 
she was a co-worker with God, the Lord of the 
harvest; and that, though she might plant, 
from him must come the increase. She knew, 
with that lively faith which is the ‘‘ substance 
of things hoped for, the evidence of things not 
seen,” that no Christian labor is “in vain in 
the Lord.” 

She was somewhat surprised, therefore, when 
Ward’s shuffling step sounded upon the brick 
walk, and he came in at the side door ; and she 
was almost startled when, instead of going to 
his room in sullen, solitary silence, he entered 
the sitting-room. 

“Where is your mother? ” he asked of Nellie» 


148 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“ She has just gone out into the kitchen, I 
think,” Nellie answered, looking up, with a 
bright, sisterly smile, from her crocheting. 
“Brownie, dear, will you run and tell mamma 
that Brother Ward is asking for her?” 

Brownie started at once, for he was always 
very obedient to Sister Nellie’s sweet wishes; 
but his brother’s voice stopped him. 

“Hold on!” it said; “you needn’t call her in 
here ; I’ll go out where she is.” 

Ward walked out in a half- ashamed, hesitat- 
ing way, and yet with a defiant air of stolid de- 
termination that was characteristic of the boy, 
and had been from his babyhood. His hand 
trembled violently as he took hold of the knob 
of the kitchen door, but he turned it resolutely, 
opened the door, and closed it firmly behind 
him. Then he spoke without a moment’s delay. 

“ I have come to thank you for what you did 
for me this morning.” His proud lip quivered, 
but he shut his mouth firmly as if to repress 
all visible signs of emotion. 

“ My dear boy,” replied Mrs. Belmont, “ don’t 
say another word. I was so glad to do it. 
Papa and Harold were both away, and, of 
course, it was the most natural thing in the 
world for me to do j'ust as I did.” 

Ward gulped down the feelings which arose 
in his throat, and raised a pair of eyes to his 
stepmother’s face out of which the resentful 
look she had been used to seeing there had 
faded. He tried once or twice to say some- 
thing, but his voice was untrustworthy. At 
last he. murmured in a low, stifled tone : “ I had 
no reason to expect you to do it, not the least 


Taking Root. 


14y 

in the world. When I saw you come into the 
mayor’s office, I supposed you had come to 
testify against me and show me up in my worst 
colors. If I had been in your place, that’s 
about what I should have done.” 

“ My dear boy,” she began, but he raised his 
hand and stopped her. 

“Of course, you know,” he went on in his 
slow, deliberate, forceful manner, “that I have 
been just as mean to you and yours as I dared 
to be. Of course, you know why, because, to 
be sure, you presumed to take my mother’s 
place. I feel that I owe it to you, now, to say 
that I am sorry, and that I beg your pardon. 
I do not say that I will ever call you mother. 
I swore beside her grave that I never would call 
any other woman that. But I intend to do the 
honorable thing after this and treat you respect- 
fully. You have saved me from disgrace, any- 
way, to-day, and I shall never forget it, 
never!” 

“My dear Ward,” and this time he did not 
stop her, even when her loving arm stole around 
his neck and she gently drew him into a chair. 
“ Now, tell me all about it, my dear,” said she, 
“it will ease that heavy heart of yours;” for he 
had buried his face in his hands and was 
weeping. 

“I’ve just tried to throw myself away ever 
since mother died,” he sobbed, “no one else 
seemed to care two cents for me, and I got in 
with some of the fellows who were in the habit 
of going to the Monkey Eanch for a good time, 
and I got to going with them. I learned to 
play pool and cards and nine-pins and pretty 


150 


An Hundred- Fold, 


soon I got to gamMing for small sums, and if I 
won I’d treat to cigarettes or something of that 
kind. I won pretty often, and I could’nt see 
any great harm in it, and I got so that I liked 
to play better than anything. Many a time 
when you thought I was at school, I was with 
a lot of fellows in that old barn where the cops 
caught us, playing cards ; and I wrote excuses 
in father’s name to the teacher, and so slid 
along. I never meant to steal, though, and I 
didn’t exactly. Jud took the money and lent 
me half. I told him I thought we were big 
fools for doing that, and, of course, we were 
consummate fools; but we were dead sure of 
winning a lot last night, and then Jud meant to 
return it, how I don’t know. Now, you know 
all. The worst of it all is father must know, 
and it will just kill him ! ” 

“Perhaps it would be just as kind to papa 
and Harold if you and I kept this our own 
secret,” said Mrs. Belmont, gently. “It is not 
necessary that they should know, is it ? ” 

“But the money you paid for me,” said 
Ward, “that will have to be accounted for. I 
know papa. He is very particular about his 
money matters.” 

“ My dear, I did not use his money. It was 
simply some money the Lord and I have on 
deposit for doing good. We are going to lend 
it to you until you can make an honest return.” 

Ward stared at her in amazement. He tried 
to speak, but his feelings would not let him. 
Mrs. Belmont smoothed his rough, tumbled 
hair, talking brightly and lovingly the while. 
“Hear boy,” said she, “the loving mother up 


Taking Hoot, 


151 


in heaven is not lost to you. She is with you 
still. Her desires for you to be a good man 
are going to be realized. You will not disap- 
point her. You will begin again and build up 
a solid character. Let me ask you to build on 
Jesus, the unmovable Kock. Ward, be a Chris- 
tian ! Make up your mind, my dear, to meet 
your mother in the happy home we call 
heaven.” 

Ward wiped his eyes in a fierce, hurried 
way. “I cannot promise that,” said he, “I’ll 
promise never to visit that old Monkey Kanch 
again, and I’ll try to drop Jud and the cards, 
but I can’t promise to be a Christian. I don’t 
know that I shall ever be one. Don’t talk to 
me of my mother. I can’t bear to think,” he 
stopped abruptly. When he spoke again it 
w’as in his natural voice. “Will you be kind 
enough to write an excuse for me to the 
teacher? She will expect me to account for 
being absent this ^morning and late this after- 
noon.” 

Mrs. Belmont went to a little drawer where 
she kept tablet and pencil for the purpose of 
writing grocery orders, and in a moment the 
excuse was in his hand. 

“I shall make it a point not to be obliged to 
ask for a second favor of this kind,” said he, 
with a grave bow. ‘‘Very many thanks,” and 
with that he withdrew. 

After school that night Clyde was very much 
astonished to find Ward mending a much- 
valued sled of his which had been broken for 
some time, and for lack of which he had been 
obliged to lose much of the fine coasting. But 


152 


An Hundred-Fold, 


when he approached him with his hearty 
thanks, Ward only handed him the sled and 
want ofi without a word. 

“But he looked ever so kind,” said the 
small boy, in recounting the transaction to his 
mother, “ and I shouldn’t wonder if I liked him 
real well.” 

“I think something is growing in Ward’s 
heart,” said his mother, giving his pretty cheek 
a kiss. 

She was right. Something was growing in 
Ward’s heart. Something good and blessed. 
The seed she had sown there that morning was 
charity or love, and it had already taken root. 


CHAPTEB XVIII. 


GLTDE^S RESCUE. 

I T was nearing the latter half of February, 
and already the icy breath of winter was 
beginning to melt in anticipation of the 
coming spring. The snow, of which there had 
been a great abundance, was getting soft, and 
in the middle of the road was forming an un- 
pleasant slush, and the thick ice in the rivers 
and streams was beginning to break up. See- 
ing it rapidly showing symptoms of disappear- 
ing altogether, the young people, of course, 
were making the most of it ; and, out of school 
hours, every hill about Oakland of any size at 
all was crowded with people of from seven to 
twenty-seven years of age. Adjoining the 
high-school building was a long hill known as 
“Jones’ Point,” which ran down gradually into 
the river Blee, whose waters had been, for six 
weeks, so securely bound as to afford a most 
splendid skating-ground for the pupils, a large 
number of whom gathered on its smooth sur- 
face day after day. As the coasters came fly- 
ing down Jone’s Point with the speed of the 
wind, and across the glassy river, there was, 
once in a while, a collision between them and 
the skaters, though guards were generally 
placed at the crossing to warn the parties on 
the ice in time to prevent a catastrophe. Usu- 
ally, these affairs were treated very pleasantly, 
and the boys put up with their broken sleds 
153 


154 


An Hundred-Fold. 


and bruised heads as a necessary evil. Ward 
being a junior, and Clyde in the A grammar 
grade of the same building, they often met on 
this play-ground; and the school was pretty 
well acquainted with the elder boy’s antipathy 
to the younger, though no words had ever 
passed between them; Ward simply passing 
his stepbrother by with the cool disdain of a 
superior, and acting as if the boy were wholly 
unknown to him. 

One beautiful afternoon, two or three days 
after Ward’s trial before the mayor, the usual 
number were gathered upon the hill and the 
river. Ward and Clyde among them. Clyde 
was the animated centre of a group of boys on 
top of the hill, and in an excited voice was ex- 
plaining to them the cunning workmanship of 
the repairs to his sled, which Ward had made. 

“ I tell you what it is,” said he, a gladsome 
light illumining his very pretty face, “Ward’s 
all O. K. when he’s good-natured. I like him 
first-rate — almost better than Harold, and he’s 
fine. I shouldn’t wonder if we should get to be 
friends, after all. I wish we could, for I think 
it’s mean not to speak to each other — minis- 
ter’s boys, too!” 

There was something very strange about it, 
but Clyde had always very much admired his 
stepbrother Ward. There was something 
about his independent, daring, reckless man- 
ner; his sharp, cutting, sarcastic retorts; his 
black, piercing eyes, which charmed the little 
boy, and caused him to regard Ward with a 
kind of delighted awe. He had an undefined 
idea that there was the making of something 


Clydes Rescue. 


155 


perfectly splendid in the strange, wilful boy, 
and often felt the wish forming within him to 
be like him, without, as he phrased it, being 
mean.” 

“Well,” said one of the boys, examining the 
sled in a critical manner, “ I haven’t much use 
for Ward Belmont, myself; but he hasn’t done 
a bad job on your sled. Let me try her and 
see how she goes. May I ? ” 

“Certainly,” said Clyde, “as many times as 
you like.” And away sped the boy down the 
hill and across the ice, amid the shouts and 
cheers of his companions. 

“ I tell you what let’s do, fellows,” said Clyde, 
in his energetic, busy way; “let’s form a train, 
a lightning express, and all go down together, 
and across to the big rock on the other side of 
the Blee, in a line. I’ll be the engineer and go 
first ; the fellow behind me can fasten his sled 
to mine, the fellow behind him to his, and so 
on. We’ll give the danger-signal as we go 
down, so that the skaters can skip out of the 
way. What do you say ? ” 

“Yes! yes!” they all shouted. “There’s no 
one like Clyde for getting up something new in 
the way of fun.” And, with the greatest alac- 
rity, the little monkeys arranged themselves in 
order, one behind the other. 

Clyde was a general favorite at school. He 
had a generous, lovable disposition, a buoyant, 
lively way with him, and a fertile brain, full of 
suggestions amusing and helpful, that carried 
the day with the majority of the pupils in his 
room, and made him an acknowledged leader. 
In suggesting this last piece of fun, he did not 


156 


An Hundred-Fold, 


think that it was dangerous ; that a wreck was 

almost certain to occur, and but who ever 

saw boys who did not invent dangerous plays, 
and enjoy them so much the more because they 
were dangerous? 

This afternoon there was intense excitement 
among the skaters, shouts of victory rising at 
each daring attempt to skim over the danger- 
ous places; for the ice was cracking beneath 
their united weight, and in several places the 
water had risen through the fissures, and was 
running over it ; while further down, nearer the 
dam, it had broken into huge cakes, and was 
actually afloat here and there. The shouts 
grew louder as two of the champion skaters 
challenged each other to a race. On they 
came, the coasters’ danger-signal unheeded, 
and the guards at the crossing, which was hid- 
den by a bend in the river, forgetting their 
duty in the excitement of the race. Down 
came the coasters in a long line, and across the 
ice at the identical moment when the skaters 
came speeding around the bend. Dash! crash! 
they came together; the long line scattered its 
freight over the ice, with a long list of bumps, 
and the ice itself responded by an ominous 
crash like the report of fire-arms, followed by 
the sudden rippling of water. In an instant 
the boys, large and small, were in the water, 
floundering about and screaming lustily for 
help. Fortunately, most of them were near the 
shore, and soon scrambled on the thick blocks 
of ice, and so to land ; but when they came to 
look about them and count their number, they 
found that one was missing. It was Clyde. 


Clydes Rescue, 


157 


They looked over the blocks of ice-cakes which 
were afloat upon the turbid water, and caught 
a glimpse of the little fellow floating toward 
the dam, clinging desperately to a piece of ice, 
while he tried to keep out of the way of the 
ice-cakes which were piling up on top of each 
other, or sailing out into the rapid current 
which would finally sweep everything, in a 
seething, boiling mass, over the dam, the roar 
of whose falling waters could be heard not far 
in the distance. 

For just one instant the boys looked on in 
dumb terror ; then they began to groan and cry 
and to run hither and thither, helplessly; but 
suddenly out from the horrified crowd swept a 
form with the strength of a lion and the speed 
of the wind. It was Ward. Flying from block 
to block of the glittering crystal, he sped on- 
ward toward his little step-brother, shouting, 
with a sound of tenderness in his voice : Hold 
on like a man, Clyde ! I’ll reach you in time ! ” 

Once, twice, thrice he leaped over a yawning 
abyss of waters, while the boys on the bank 
cheered him madly. Then he slipped, almost 
fell, righted himself, and swept on, shout- 
ing to the child who still clung to the little 
island of ice. He neared him, knelt down and 
reached out his hand, but the cake, rocked by 
the motion of the water, swept out of his reach 
and slowly around in the current. In a little 
while, such a few moments, the boy would be 
carried over the dam. Groans and cries again 
rent the air, but Ward did not hesitate. Hastily 
pulling off coat and boots he flung himself into 
the deep water among the floating ice and swam 


158 


An Hundred-Fold, 


to the aid of his brother. Only just in time; 
the little fellow’s strength had given way, and 
just as Ward laid hold of him, his feeble grasp 
let go of his icy support. How Ward ever 
reached the shore in safety he never knew. 
He had some dim remembrance of getting 
Clyde upon another cake of ice; of pushing 
that cake over to another; of climbing upon 
that ; of carrying the boy from cake to cake, 
wrapped in the coat he had pulled off; of being 
met half way by some of the other boys, and of 
finally reaching the shore with his burden. 
Once there, he laid the boy in one of the young 
men’s arms, and shaking himself free from the 
crowd, disappeared over the hill and was lost 
to view; seemingly perfectly deaf to the sensa- 
tion he had caused. 

When he got home and slipped off upstairs 
to change his wet clothing, they had already 
arrived with Clyde in a carriage, and had him 
safely between the blankets. Some one had 
gone for a doctor, and he was there, looking 
into the case and shaking his head gravely over 
what might have been, and listening with admi- 
ration to the excited accounts of one and another 
of Ward’s heroism. 

“Little fellows are always getting into mis- 
chief,” said he, pouring out a dose of something 
and putting it into Clyde’s mouth. “ Swallow 
that to keep you from getting cold. I bet you 
won’t more than get over this before you’ll be 
hatching up something else. That’s the way 
with boys. 1 was one myself once, believe itV 
That brother of yours is a plucky fellow. I’d 
like to see him. If you had gone over that 


159 


Olyde^s Rescue. 

dam it would have been all day with you. 
Where is Ward? I should think he would 
want some blankets and hot medicine as well 
as you.” 

At this, a good half-dozen of the helpers in 
the house made a rush upstairs and tried to 
persuade Ward that he needed a great deal of 
petting and nursing and whatnot, but he 
answered through the closed door that he 
needed nothing ; that he had changed his 
clothes and was perfectly comfortable in every 
respect, and that he had no intention of being 
carried around on their hands, not the least in 
the world. 

But when Mrs. Belmont, the moment she 
could leave Clyde, stole softly up the stairs to 
his room with her heart full to overflowing 
with thankfulness, and asked to come in, he 
came to the door at once and opened it ; and 
when, as well as she could for the glad tears 
that were in her voice, she tried to thank him 
for the blessed service he had rendered her, 
and begged him to go to bed and let the doctor 
prescribe for him, he only said, brusquely: 

You needn’t thank me at all. I couldn’t 
have done less and been human. If you can 
think of it as anything of a return for the favor 
which you did me the other day, all right. I 
am glad it came in my way lo do something to 
show you that I realized and appreciated your 
kindness. No,” a little impatiently, as though 
he was weary of the subject, “I am not going 
to be dosed. Tell the doctor to go to grass 
with his hot stuff. And you may make those 
fellows understand down there that I am not 


160 


A.n Hundred-Fold 


going to be made a hero of. I shan’t go down- 
stairs until they leave the house.” 

With which words he stood civilly until she 
had left the room, then closed the door and 
locked it, leaving her in the hall with a tender 
smile upon her lips and* the happy tears in her 
eyes. 


CHAPTEK XIX. 


A STEP FORWARD. 

M eanwhile, Kate was busy with her 
books. She had applied for the school 
at Clinton and obtained it, having gone 
to Ludlow, the county-seat, and obtained a cer- 
tificate, and she was diligently studying while 
awaiting the opening of the term. She fretted 
with feverish longing to be free from her father 
and Harold, both of whom persisted in sending 
her money and coming to see her at regular 
intervals. “If I can just get and keep this 
school,” she would say, again and again to her- 
self, “ I can get along without their help and 
be independent. I hate to have them spying 
around and holding authority over me. I am 
old enough to be my own mistress, and I will 
not put up with it any longer than I can help. 
Father and Harry are all very well, of course, 
but they have an idea that women can’t take 
care of themselves, and I should like to show 
them a thing or two.” 

She had gone to her Aunt Martha’s and 
stayed some time, after the dread disease which 
had made havoc of their home had done its 
worst by destroying the joyous lives of the two 
little children ; but the dark pall of grief which 
rested upon her uncle and aunt was so oppres- 
sive to her spirits that she was heartily glad to 
be recalled to Mrs. Knox’s. She had become 
quite domesticated there, now. There was so 

161 


11 


162 


An Hundred- Fold. 


much hearty hospitality about the little woman, 
so much kindly sympathy, that, little by little, 
Kate had been drawn to open her heart to her, 
until the good woman understood her position 
fully. Without in the least reproaching her, she 
had kindly tried to open her eyes to the good 
which she had not a doubt existed in her step- 
mother and her family. ‘‘ Folks are so dissimi- 
lar^” she would say, “yet I suppose we are all 
made to fill our own little corner in the world, 
don’t you? These things seem sad, to be sure, 
but you had done your share, no doubt, and the 
Father brought some one else along to take up 
the work and set you free. Something good 
comes of all these things. For instance, you 
wouldn’t be here with us if it hadn’t happened 
so, and we enjoy having you so much. You 
know John and I never had a child of our own, 
and it seems nice to adopt one for a while and 
play papa and mamma.” 

Mrs. Knox spoke the truth. Her heart yearned 
over Kate, the more that she found upon closer 
acquaintance that the girl needed the counsel 
and leadership of an older and wiser woman. 
So she had said: “You must just stay here 
with me. You may go and see Aunt Martha 
as often as you like, but I shan’t let her have 
you. I consider my claim almost as good as 
hers.” And so Kate had stayed with the one 
proviso j that Mrs. Knox should accept a certain 
sum of money every month for her board ; and 
she learned to love Clinton very much. The 
woods and hills around it were romantically 
beautiful, and Kate loved to sit in the rustic 
chair on the back porch on sunny days and watch 


A Step l^orward. 


163 


them, while she caught a breath of approaching 
spring. And, yes, there was another reason 
why Kate liked Mrs. Knox’s pretty home. Mr. 
Percival was supplying the church in Clinton, 
and came to the house a great deal. Indeed, 
there was not a time that he did not call either 
in going or coming, and although Kate would 
not have owned it to her heart, she learned very 
soon to watch for his coming and regret his 
going away. Not that he attached himself to 
her at all. On the contrary, he paid her no 
marked attention, but he brightened life for 
her, and she felt strengthened and helped by 
his presence. He never had reverted to the 
trouble in her family, and her abrupt departure ; 
but though she did not request it, he brought 
her bits of news concerning her home and those 
she had left behind ; spoke of the children and 
their tender remembrances of her, and in many 
trifling, undemonstrative ways strove to keep 
alive within her heart the flame of domestic 
affection; and poor Kate drank it in as the 
thirsty ground drinks in the rain. Hard as 
she had made herself, icily indifferent as she 
constrained herself to be, she could not destroy 
the germs of love within her uncultivated heart. 
They attained some degree of growth in spite 
of all, and bloom they did, a sickly flower 
enough, it is true, but still an evidence of life. 

As time went on, Kate felt the difference 
more and more between her own Christian life 
and that of her hostess and Mr. Percival. To 
them God seemed so real, and heaven anything 
but a dream. It was, on the contrary, a real 
home, toward which they were looking with 


164 


Ayi Hundred- 1^ old. 


longing eyes, and to which they expected to 
go so soon as their schooldays here were oyer. 
That was the way they put it. This world w^as 
a great school ; here they were being educated 
for a higher life, which was to be the com- 
mencement of a beautiful forever. Kate had 
never before heard any one talk in just that 
way. Her father lived a very blameless life, 
Harold a most upright one, but she had never 
heard them talk much at home about divine 
things. She had been tolerably well contented 
with herself until now. She had been her kind 
of a Christian, and she had never stopped to 
inquire whether her kind was the Bible kind or 
not. But now grave questions began to arise 
within her heart, and she found herself con- 
sulting the Scriptures to see whether such and 
such things were so, which she had heard Mr. 
Percival and Mrs. Knox talking about. One 
evening she was deeply interested in hearing 
them converse of the influence, conscious and 
unconscious, of a life “ hid with Christ in God.” 

Mrs. Knox said: ‘‘Arthur, so many times I 
have tried to touch other lives with the fire of 
my own thought about Jesus and his love for 
the lost, and, as far as I could see, I never kin- 
dled the tiniest flame; and yet I believe the 
Bible with all my heart, and it says that our 
‘labor is not in vain in the Lord,’ and ‘He that 
goeth forth weeping, bearing precious seed, 
shall doubtless come again rejoicing, bringing 
his sheaves with him.’ How do you fix that ? 
I know that I have sown with weeping many a 
time, and have never seen a sign of the seed 
breaking ground.” 


A Step Forward, 


165 


Mr. Percival looked at the earnest little lady 
opposite him engsged in making a child’s dress 
for an overworked neighbor, who, like the old 
woman of fairy lore, “had so many children 
she didn’t know what to do,” and he smiled — 
one of those rare, radiant smiles which actu- 
ally illumine the face. 

“Oh! my blessed woman,” he replied, “you 
don’t expect to gather in your harvest here, do 
you? So much is reserved for the life on the 
other side of the river! We may never know 
that we have made a single impression here, 
softened a single hard heart, awakened a single 
echo in a soul ; but it is my opinion that we 
never sing a song, or shed a tear, or speak a 
word, for Christ, but blossoms into some flower 
of excellence and beauty in the golden land of 
the hereafter. I do not know what I would do 
if I did not believe this, so hopeless and fruit- 
less does my work seem for much of the time ; 
so often I cannot see that I have touched a 
single heart ; everybody seems perfectly indif- 
ferent to the truth that I try to teach, and even 
to all personal efforts ; and my very soul sinks 
within me. But I know what Jesus is. He is 
not going to let my love for him fall to the 
ground. It will be like the old lady’s patch- 
work. In her dream, every block became a 
precious stone which reflected the rays of light 
in all the colors of the rainbow; and that is 
what I am looking for when I get home to 
heaven. I have been but a bungler here ; my 
work is but patchwork ; but Jesus will take it 
and make something everlastingly beautiful 
of it.” 


166 


An Hundred-Fold, 


Kate sat and listened with a wondering, 
throbbing heart. Could this be true? If so, 
her stepmother’s efforts for her would live for- 
ever, and result in glory by-and-by. A whole 
multitude of little things which had been done 
for her by her father’s second wife crowded 
before her and peered at her from the galleries 
of her mind, where they had been thrust as far 
from the realm of thought as possible. How 
she hated the memory of them! The cheery, 
helpful words dropped by her; the uplifting 
songs that she sung while at her work ; above 
all, the prayer that she had made in Kate’s be- 
half — all came back, together with many other 
things which Kate would fain have forgotten. 
She knew that they were done for Christ ; then, 
they would live in the great beyond, and she — 
perhaps she might have to owe her salvation to 
them. 

She came back from her reverie in time to 
hear Mr. Percival say: “I came across some- 
thing the other day on this subject that ac- 
corded with my feelings exactly. It was so 
sweetly and beautifully expressed that I would 
like to read it to you, if you don’t object.’* 
Taking a bit of newspaper from his vest- 
pocket, he read: 

“ Only a thought; but the work it wrought 
Could never by tongue or pen be taught ; 

For it ran through a life like a thread of gold. 

And the life bore fruit an hundred-fold. 

“ Only a word ; but ’twas spoken in love, 

With a whispered prayer to the God above; 

And the angels in heaven rejoiced once more, 

For a new-born soul entered in by the door.” 


167 


A Step Forward, 

“Don’t you agree with me, Miss Katie, that 
that is not only good poetry, but the sweetest 
encouragement to us poor wayfarers upon the 
road of life ? ” 

Kate bowed. She could not trust herself to 
speak, a strange thing for her. Her soul was 
more than usually aroused. The solemn ques- 
tion faced her, “What have I done that will 
live in God’s eternity as good, and beautiful, 
and true ? ” and she made a half-formed resolu- 
tion that she would, in beginning her school, 
try to do something to redeem the past, some- 
thing to serve as a covering to the hateful 
life she had lived, whose works she feared 
would prove but hay and stubble in the day of 
trial, and be burned in a moment of time. 

Hf only she had been willing to accept the 
divine help offered; but in her loneliness she 
still persisted, meaning to be sufficient for her- 
self; and so was in no position to receive a 
blessing. 

And so the time sped away, and the season 
for opening the spring term of school ap- 
proached. The evening before her duties were 
to begin, Mrs. Knox came to her with a request. 
“ My dear,” said she, “ I want to bespeak your 
kindest attention for two little German boys 
who will be among your scholars. They live 
down by the mill, and are so slow that no 
teacher has had the least patience with them. 
They have no chance to learn anything. I do 
want you to do your best for them, and I 
believe you will.” 

“I will certainly try, Mrs. Knox,” said Kate, 
and she really meant every word she said. 


168 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“ And poor Sadie Sloan ; you remember the 
girl that rose for prayers one night at prayer- 
meeting. I do hope you will be able to influ- 
ence her. She is a good, brave girl, but she 
has never come out in the light, and she is so 
ignorant. Poor Sadie. Let some beam from 
the divine Lamp fall on her, if you can, 
Katie.” 

‘‘If I can, dear Mrs. Knox,” but it is not 
necessary to state that she doulDted her ability, 
and wished that Sadie Sloan was not to be 
among her pupils. 


CIHAPTEK XX. 

KATE MAKES A BEGINNING. 

K ATE’S school began the first of April, 
and lasted through the month of June. 
Miss Richie had the primary room and 
all the pupils under twelve years of age. The 
school- building was a shabby affair, long and 
low, and with one vacant room, in which the 
children were allowed to play on rainy days. 
Kate’s room was much superior to Miss 
Richie’s, having been recently fitted up with 
new desks and stove, several large outline maps, 
and a nice arm-chair for the teacher, while in 
the primary department the stove was old 
and rusty, the benches mean, and the teacher’s 
chair was disgraced by a broken back. Miss 
Richie did not mind these things, however ; she 
had taught the little ones for more than three 
years, and felt altogether at home behind her 
homely little desk. She was standing smiling 
in the doorway as Kate came up, patting the 
curly heads of two little fellows who were hang- 
ing to her white apron and looking up at her 
with loving eyes. 

“ Good morning,” said she, with a brightness 
that was infectious. “Isn’t it a beautiful morn- 
ing ? So pleasant that we scarcely need a fire, 
though the babies and I thought we had best 
have a little bit, in case there might be damp- 
ness about. We kindled a wee bit in your 
room, too. I think you have a nice room, and 
169 


170 


An Hundred- 1 old. 


I hope you will like it and stay with me a good 
while. You will find your pupils very interest- 
ing. I am sure you will love them. You will 
probably have as many as forty in your room. 
I have twenty-seven, more than half of them 
little tots like these.” 

“Oh! I am positive that I shall like it,” re- 
plied Kate, hanging up her hat and brushing 
her dress. “It is exactly what I have always 
wanted to do. My mother was a teacher at 
one time.” 

“Then it is your birthright, isn’t it?” said 
Miss Bichie, smiling pleasantly, as she busied 
herself in pulling down the windows at the top, 
so that there might be plenty of ventilation. 
“ That will make everything much easier for 
you. I think nature is the best ladder in life 
to climb on. Do you tell me that this is your 
first attempt — that you have never taught be- 
fore ? ” 

“ This is my first term,” returned Kate. 

“And you are a stranger to the pupils 
here ?” 

“I know a few of them,” said Kate, hesitat- 
ingly. “I have been in Clinton, as you know, 
long enough to make several acquaintances. I 
know Dr. Joy’s two girls, and Charley Edison, 
and the little lame girl who lives in that fine 
house with the long grassy yard so full of flow- 
ers. I forget the name.” 

“ Mrs. Carrolton. You mean poor little 
Blanche. She is a sweet child, and very intel- 
ligent. You will have no difficulty in loving 
her.” 

“ How are you in the habit of opening your 


171 


Kate Makes a Beginning. 

school ? ” asked Kate. “ I have no ideas of my 
own about it especially, and I should like to 
know how you do. I have thought several 
times of asking you, and it has slipped my 
mind.” 

Miss Richie looked at her with a sweet seri- 
ousness. 

‘‘In my room,” she said, “we always have a 
responsive Scripture reading the first thing. I 
read a verse, and then the pupils read in con- 
cert. Of course there are some of the little 
ones who cannot read, and I always try to se- 
lect a verse or two from the central thought of 
the lesson for them to learn and recite. Then 
I go to the Saviour with a few words of prayer, 
and at the end they all join with me in repeat- 
ing the Lord’s Prayer. I am so glad that you 
have spoken to me about this. Miss Belmont. 
I want to enlist your Christian influence in be- 
half of not only your own room, but the whole 
school. There has been too little of the lan- 
guage of heaven taught here. So many of the 
teachers have been merely worldly, and have 
omitted prayer regularly, and often the Bible 
reading also. It has been a source of great 
anxiety to me; but, knowing your father to be 
a minister and you to be of the royal family of 
Jesus, I shall expect great things of our con- 
certed efforts.” 

A dark red flush crept over Kate’s face and 
suffused her neck. She had never thought of 
such a thing as this. She had never in all her 
life prayed in public. She felt that she could 
not do it. It was simply impossible ; and yet 
she knew not what to say. Miss Richie stood 


172 


An Hundred-Fold. 


smilingly by, as if she thought it the most 
natural thing in the world to do, and Kate did 
not know how to tell her that she had come 
wholly unprepared to meet this emergency; 
she had not even brought a Bible with her. 

As if in answer to this last thought, Miss 
Bichie approached a little cupboard in the 
wall, saying: “The school-board has provided 
Testaments for each room. They are kept in 
here. Each child is expected to have one, and 
after morning worship we have some of the 
boys and girls collect them and put them back 
in the cupboard. In this way they are pre- 
served and kept neat. Then, Miss Belmont, 
we all love to sing. Of course, at worship we 
always sing the Sunday-school songs; but at 
other times the children enjoy a change, and 
we generally allow them to take turns in choos- 
ing their favorites from our slender stock of 
songs. I am so glad that you have such a 
good voice ; you can do so much good with it. 
Time to ring the bell, Willie ? ” as a small boy 
plucked her by the sleeve and pointed to the 
small, round clock in the corner. “ Why, so it 
is. I guess that you and Eddie can ring it 
this time. Now I must go to my own room 
and marshal my little folks into their right 
places.” And, with good wishes, the lady with- 
drew. 

With the ringing of the bell came Mr. Perci- 
val with his Bible under his arm, smiling mis- 
chievously at Kate’s evident astonishment, as 
he stood in the door with uncovered head. 

“ Will you let me come in ? ” he asked, coax- 
ingly. “I’ll be a real good boy, and I want to 


Kate Makes a Beginning. 173 

learn a new something before I go home. Do 
forgive me ! ” as he noticed her distressed face. 
“ I fear I am guilty of a great rudeness, but I 
had to go past your very door on my way to 
the depot, and I couldn’t resist the temptation 
to step in and see you make a beginning. Is 
it mean? I didn’t intend it, honestly. I am 
so pleased over your trying to do this. I believe 
it is a good thing, and I feel sure the Master is 
having a hand in it. May I come in ? ” as he 
saw the distressed look give way to a relieved 
one. 

“You may upon one condition,” said Kate, 
for when her eyes had fallen on the Bible a 
thought had come to her. “If you will open 
the school for me. I find Miss Kichie reads 
the Bible and makes a prayer before her pupils, 
and she expects me to follow suit. You know 
well enough that I can’t do that. I might read 
a few verses and say the Lord’s Prayer with 
them, but that would be the extent. But, of 
course, as you are a minister, it would be very 
nice. Will you do it ? ” 

“ Do it ? I shall be glad to, of course. You 
say you are to have responsive readings. Miss 
Katie ? That will be nice. You will get used 
to this in a very short time, and I am glad the 
Father lias called you where you may find it 
necessary to exercise your gifts. Make up 
your mind to be willing in the day of his 
power.” 

She had no time to respond, for the pupils 
were, by this time, streaming in at the open 
door, and with some confusion and a good deal 
of noise were making choice of their seats. Mr. 


174 


An Hundred-Fold. 


Percival and Kate both watched them keenly. 
For the most part they were a wide-awake, 
nice-looking set of young people, ranging from 
thirteen to eighteen years of age ; and in dress 
and manners they did credit to their parents and 
the community. Of course there were some 
ill-looking ones ; there always are in every 
assembly; but, for the most part, the two 
critics were well pleased with them. As soon 
as they became quiet, Kate introduced herself 
in a few well-chosen words, and also presented 
Mr. Percival, telling them that he would open 
the school with Bible-reading and prayer, and 
she hoped they would respectfully attend. 

Some of the scholars already knew him, and 
took the liberty of nudging their neighbors and 
volunteering the information that they had 
heard him preach, while the Testaments were 
being passed ; but when he arose, open Bible 
in hand, and turned his pleasant eyes upon 
them, they turned to him at once with profound 
attention. 

“I am glad to meet you this morning, my 
dear young people,” said he, with that rare, 
winning smile of his. “ God has given me the 
gracious opportunity of saying a few words for 
Jesus to a roomfull of girls and boys. You 
know we always like to recommend our friends. 
Of course you do. Now, the best friend I have 
in all the world is Jesus Christ; he is the one 
who has taught me how to live, and he is the 
one who is going to teach me how to die. Now, 
you girls and boys are growing very rapidly 
into men and women, and what I want to say 
is just this : I hope that you will not only be 


175 


Kate Makes a Beginning. 

men and women, but cultivated Christian men 
and women ; and that you will not only accept 
Miss Belmont as your teacher, but the Lord 
Jesus Christ himself. We all need educating, 
not only for this world, but for the world to 
come. We need to have our wild growth culti- 
vated, trained in the right direction and made 
a fruit-bearer. None of you care for an apple 
tree which bears no apples, nor a grape-vine 
which bears no grapes. Neither do you like 
the sour crabs or the wild grapes as you do 
our beautiful, cultivated fruit, the Eambos, Pip- 
pins, and Baldwins; the Concords, Delawares, 
and Malagas. Under God, man has made of 
this sin-cursed earth a beautiful and productive 
soil, and that is just what you can do with the 
help of the great Teacher, Jesus Christ, for 
your minds and hearts. You can make of them 
the most beautiful gardens in which will grow 
the flowers of poesy and the fruits of wisdom. 
‘Knowledge is power.’ You can make your- 
selves desired by the world by becoming well- 
educated. The world will not accept ignorant 
servants. If you want to be anybody you must 
know. A boy who learns book-keeping has 
a chance to become a banker ; a girl who under- 
stands composition has a chance to become an 
author; one who masters elocution has the 
liberty of the platform, and so on. Just think 
of it! Make up your minds to begin this term 
of school with Jesus as your educator as well 
as Miss Belmont, and I can assure you the 
world will be a better world for your having 
lived in it. Now, if you will open your Testa- 
ments to the eleventh chapter of Matthew, I 


176 


An Hundred-Fold, 


will begin at the twenty-fifth verse, and we will, 
alternately reading, finish the chapter. Then 
we will ask onr Father in heaven to give you 
all inquiring minds as regards not only earthly 
wisdom but that wisdom which is from above.” 

After the reading and prayer, they sang a 
hymn, and Mr. Percival bade them a graceful 
adieu and bowed himself out, much to their 
regret. 

Well, that was over, and well over, too ; and 
Kate breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to 
her roll-book and began to record the names. 
The morning was passed in examining the in- 
tellectual status of the pupils and in arranging 
them into classes. In the afternoon the lessons 
were begun, and, as they applied themselves to 
their books, Kate took a quiet and studied ob- 
servation of her school. There were several 
faces which interested her very much. She 
liked Charley Edison. He smiled whenever he 
caught her eye, and was bright, sociable, and 
handsome. Then there were Dr. Joy’s two 
girls, almost young ladies, so stylishly dressed 
for a place like Clinton, so handsome and in- 
telligent, that she felt sure they would be com- 
panionable. Little lame Blanche Carrolton 
was very sweet — such a dainty little creature, 
and dressed with so much care. She would 
like to become better acquainted with Blanche’s 
mother ; she must be a lovely lady. Then there 
were the Millers, and the Townsend boy, and 
that mischievous Murray Sullivan. She would 
get up a nice little society of some kind with 
these young people ; and at the thought of re- 
suming her old life of leadership, her spirits 


Kate Makes a Beginning. 177 

rose involuntarily. But what should she ever 
do with that great, awkward-looking girl in the 
ill- made, faded, calico dress, so long at both 
sides and so ridiculously short before and 
behind, who talked loud and wore her hair 
short — Sadie Sloan? Sadie and the two little 
German boys of whom Mrs. Knox had spoken 
were pupils that Kate would most gladly have 
dispensed with. The small Germans were fully 
as unpromising as they had been represented 
to be. They were bare-footed, though so early 
in the season, and their round, fat bodies were 
clad in clothes which seemed bursting at every 
seam. Their small, blue eyes were stupid and 
expressionless, and Kate wished with all her 
heart that they were not enrolled upon her 
book. However, she had promised Mrs. Knox 
to take especial pains with them; and, aside 
from that, she recognized that, as a teacher, 
she belonged to them quite as much as to any- 
body in the room. So she went down the aisle 
and seated herself by their side. 

“What did you say. your names are?” she 
asked. 

“Swope,” was the response, “Fritz and 
Hans.” 

“And which is Fritz and which is Hans?” 
asked Kate. “ I am afraid that I am not going 
to be able to tell you apart.” 

“Dis von ish Fritz, myself ish Hans,” re- 
plied one, with a laugh all over his face. 

“ You have been to school a good deal,” said 
Kate ; “ you ought to have learned a great deal.” 

“ Fritz ish von pig fool,” said Hans, shaking 
his head. 


12 


178 


An Hundred- Fold, 


Hans ish anodder,” said Fritz. 

At this they both laughed good-humoredly. 

“ You must make up your mind to conquer 
your lessons,” said Kate. “You have been let- 
ting them get the better of you. Yon remem- 
ber the motto that the gentleman spoke of this 
morning — ‘ Knowledge is power’? I think that 
I shall embroider that motto very handsomely, 
and have it framed and hung up right opposite 
you, for the scholar who tries to learn most.” 

The boys’ dull eyes sparkled. 

“ Now,” said Kate, “ I see that you read very 
poorly, and your progress in arithmetic has 
been exceedingly slow. But I’ll tell you what 
I will do. If you’ll come to Mrs. Knox’s twice 
a week, after school, I will give you some pri- 
vate instruction. I am very anxious that you 
should get on.” 

The boys were voluble in their thanks ; and 
Kate felt that “if those horrid little German 
boys don’t learn, it will be their own fault.” 

The next morning she was much astonished 
and taken aback at being presented with a very 
large cookie, as big as a saucer, by the two 
broad-faced little German brothers. 


CHAPTEE XXL 


WARD'S PRESCRIPTION. 

T he days and weeks rolled by, and though 
Ward was, in many respects, a changed 
boy, he walked the streets far too much 
for a boy who had a high standing to make in 
order to enter the senior class in the high school 
the next year. True, he spent no more even- 
ings at the “Monkey Eanch,” for since the po- 
lice had broken up the boys’ gambling-nest, he 
as well as some of the others had fought shy of 
this death-trap; but he found it quite impos- 
sible to get rid of Jud. The persistent fellow 
met him everywhere, and it became next to 
impossible to refuse his pressing invitations to 
slip off into his room at home and play cards 
“just for fun”; and, once there, it was so easy 
to forget his promise to his stepmother, and to 
stake small sums of money on the game, and 
to win a dollar by laying down a nickel. 

The great trouble with Ward was, that he 
had not yielded to Christ, but had hardened 
his heart, and had allowed Jesus of Nazareth 
to “pass by” without calling on him for salva- 
tion. Mrs. Belmont had hoped and prayed 
that he would yield to Christ without delay. 
She knew that both mind and heart had been 
aroused upon the subject; that he had felt the 
need of something better in his life ; but if he 
had ever had these thoughts, he had evidently 
resisted them, or put them off until “ a more 
convenient season.” 


179 


180 


An Hundred-Fold, 


In fact, Ward was trying to be his own phy- 
sician. He was trying to heal his own sin-sick 
soul. He certainly realized that he was not 
right ; that something was disturbing his soul- 
life; that, in fact, he had gone morally wrong. 
He meant — honestly enough, too — to remedy 
all this; and he believed — poor, self-deceived 
boy! — that he was sufficient for himself. He 
really thought that he could be as good a young 
man without Christ as Harold was with Christ. 
Still, he found himself doing things which he 
knew that Harold would not have done, and 
that he would have scorned Harold for doing. 
He knew that the card-plajing in Jud’s room 
was not right nor innocent; the broken pro- 
mises to his stepmother haunted him ; and his 
constant cigarette-smoking was bringing on a 
kind of heart-trouble. A physician had kindly 
volunteered him that information ; but he still 
smoked on, regardless of the poison which he 
was inhaling into his nervous system. 

One evening during the summer vacation he 
came home from the post-office, where he had 
been to mail some letters, and found there an 
old acquaintance of his father’s. They were 
having a grand time renewing an old and es- 
tablished friendship; and Dr. Belmont imme- 
diately called to the boy as he entered the 
room, and, throwing one arm lightly across his 
shoulder, said: ‘‘Bandall, this is my second 
boy, Ward. He will be seventeen years of age 
next month. He expects to graduate from the 
high school next year. I want to make a law- 
yer of him. Mr. Eandall, of Pasadena, Cali- 
fornia, Ward. We were schoolboys together.” 


WardJs Prescription. 181 

The stranger grasped Ward’s hand and shook 
it heartily. 

“So you are destined for the bar, are you?” 
said Mr. Randall. “You’d better go home with 
me, and become a fruit-merchant. I have a 
big orange grove, a vineyard, and a packing- 
house, and you can make big money — make a 
fortune by the time you are thirty years of age. 
Come, now, what do you say to going back 
with me? As far as high-school is concerned, 
that’s nothing. There are high schools and 
high teachers out there — plenty of them. What 
do you say, Belmont? I’ll pay his way, and 
keep him ‘ as snug as a bug in a rug ’ in my own 
home. I’ve got a mighty pretty little girl, but 
never a boy; and here you are with three right 
in a row. It isn’l fair.” 

Ward caught his breath as the stranger went 
on, rapidly and forcibly, speaking to his father, 
and urging his claims in an earnest, sincere, 
and friendly manner; and a great desire arose 
in the boy’s heart to accept Mr. Randall’s offer, 
and to get away from Oakland and its constant 
temptations. 

“I can begin all over again if I can go to 
some place where I am not known,” he mused, 
“but I can never be good for anything here. I 
can’t throw off Jud ; it is impossible ; and his 
influence kills me. I stumble over him all the 
time. If I once get away, I will be careful 
what kind of acquaintances I make.” 

He was recalled from his mental wandering 
by his father saying : “ I don’t want to see my 
boys go out from under the old roof-tree while 
they are so young, Randall. It will be hard 


182 


An Hundred-Fold. 


enough to part with them when they get to be 
men. I speak from experience. I left my 
home too soon for my own good, and my fa- 
ther’s also. I ought not to have done it. I 
would have escaped so much, my father would 
have gained so much, if I had remained with 
him until I was at least twenty-one years old. 
I would have attained a stronger mental as well 
as physical growdh if I had allowed my father 
to take care of me a little longer.” 

But Mr. Eandall, for some reason, was de- 
termined to carry his point; and Ward sided 
with him so earnestly that the good Doctor was 
constrained to promise that he would think 
about it. Further than that he could not be 
urged to go; and Ward retired to his room 
with the question undecided, and full of such 
excitement that he could not rest. To make it 
worse, when Harold came up to bed, he had 
heard of the project, and was full of indignant 
remonstrance. 

“ Eidiculous ! ” he exclaimed, in very great 
heat for him ; “ the idea of a boy of your age 
going so far away from home ! Sucla a thing 
would be bad enough in me, and I am nearly 
twenty-one years old. I should think. Ward, 
that your heart would not let you do it; I 
should think that you would think too much of 
us to place such a distance between us. If it 
were a hundred miles or so, I would not open 
my mouth on the subject; but California! The 
thought is absurd; and I don’t see what that 
man Eandall is thinking of to suggest such a 
thing. Nothing but absolute necessity would 
drive me to do it,” 


Ward's Prescmjption. 


183 


Ward broke into a little sarcastic laugh. 

“I am such an object of affection in this 
household,” he said ; “my society is so highly 
prized; I am missed so sorely the moment I 
step out from the family circle, that my heart 
quite melts within me, and I find that I am a 
beast to think of going off to seek my fortune ; 
nevertheless, I feel constrained so to do. Jokes 
all aside, Hal, and speaking seriously, a chance 
like this doesn’t come to a fellow like me more 
than once in a lifetime. I’d be a fool not to 
take advantage of it, and father is another if 
he doesn’t allow me to do it. No, sir! I’d 
leave this town behind me too quickly, and go 
where it is possible to be somebody, if I could. 
There’s nothing here for a fellow to do. I do 
wish that I was a man; it wouldn’t take me 
long to decide my future.” 

Harold sat down on the bed by the side of 
his younger brother, and laid his hand affec- 
tionately upon the one buried in the nut-brown 
hair. 

“My dear Ward,” said he, “you do not need 
to be a man yet. You are just educating with 
the man in view. Be content to remain at 
home and be the studious boy, and make some- 
body of yourself in time, instead of going off to 
try being somebody at once. You would better 
let father decide for you in this. He has a 
man’s wisdom, gathered from years of experi- 
ence ; you may rest assured that he knows best.” 

Ward sprang up excitedly. 

“ The world is not what it was when he was 
a boy,” he said, with almost savage earnest- 
ness. “ It’s on the move, and we have got to 


184 


An Hundred-Fold, 


move witli it, or be left behind. Boys are not 
what they used to be, either ; they didn’t know 
nearly so much then, and a little satisfied them. 
But it isn’t that way now, I tell you. There 
are mighty few boys of my age who remain 
under their father’s roof unless they have work 
handy. Every boy is expected to earn his own 
living when he gets to be about as old as I am, 
and I don’t want to be the exception. There 
is literally nothing to do here ; I told you that 
before.” 

“ By the time you have gained your educa- 
tion there will, doubtless, be an opening. There 
was one for me ; why not for you ? ” 

“You and I are two very different individu- 
als, Hal,” said the boy, with a frown. “A slow 
old place like yours would never suit me at all. 
I’ve got my head set on making money. I in- 
tend to be rich. What is the use of being con- 
tented with a thousand dollars when you can 
have fifty thousand? That’s the way I look at 
it, and that’s right. I tell you, Harold, you’ve 
got your eyes shut ; you don’t see ahead. Such 
an offer as this of Mr. Randall’s is an unheard- 
of thing, and it is full of just splendid possi- 
bilities. It’s the meanest kind of a shame to 
miss it, and I’ll never forgive father if he makes 
me do it. Good-night ; I’m going to sleep.” 

And with that. Ward turned his back on his 
brother, pulled the bed-clothes over his head, 
and refused to say another word. 

The next day the subject was renewed. 
Ward argued the question with singular ability 
upon every side, the financial one especially. 

“You know,” he said to his father, leaning 


Ward's Prescrij)tion. 185 

back in his chair with his legs crossed and his 
hands thrust deep in his pockets, and speaking 
in his deliberate, forceful way, “you know that 
this town is not a financial centre. There are 
moneyed men here, to be sure; but they did 
not grow up here — this town did not make 
them. There’s nothing here to build fortunes 
out of. It’s a college town, and a very small 
one at that. There’s nothing but scholarship 
to be had, from the beginning to the end of the 
chapter, and everything tends to professional 
life ; and as far as I am concerned, I hate pro- 
fessional life. You talk about my being a law- 
yer. Why, there are enough lawyers here now 
to keep all Oakland in court the whole time. I 
want to make money ; that’s what I am after ; 
and I don’t want to drudge through my whole 
life to get enough to give myself a respectable 
burial, either.” 

“There is too much of this money-making 
disposition among young people just now,” said 
Dr. Belmont, thoughtfully. “I don’t like it; it 
doesn’t have the right ring. Instead of making 
good manhood and womanhood — instead of 
building character — the girls as well as the 
boys are all for making money and building 
fortunes. I haven’t much faith in the outcome 
of such ambition, myself; it is not scriptural; 
and. Ward, papa is anxious for you to be an 
educated man. You have abilities which ought 
to be consecrated to your Father in heaven.” 

The sullen look deepened on Ward’s face; 
his dusky eyes looked dangerous ; his resolute 
lips were compressed determinedly. He swayed 
back and forth in his chair for a few minutes 


186 


An Hundred-Fold, 


in silence. At last he said, with more of the 
old grimness than he had shown for some time: 
‘‘I’ll never be anything creditable to you as 
long as I stay in this town. It’s worse than 
poison to one of my disposition. Good, pay- 
ing work, such as Mr. Kandall offers, will cure 
me of my nonsense quicker than anything. It 

kills me to lie around ; and pshaw ! father, 

what is the use of more education? I’ve got 
all that I need for a business life, and that’s 
just what I intend to be — a business man. 
What is the good of the last year of the high 
school to me? Not thatF' and he snapped his 
fingers derisively. “There’s not a bit of use in 
forcing a boy to be something that he hasn’t a 
particle of taste for. A fellow who is treated 
in that way never does amount to a row of 
pins ; and I shan’t, I know. Besides, I want 
to see something of the world, and here is a 
number one chance: and it won’t cost you one 
cent.” 

“Perhaps not,” returned his father; “but 
that argument has very little influence with 
me. Ward. My objection is not so much Mr. 
Kandall or his offer as it is your youth. You 
are but a boy yet, my son, and home is the 
best place for you, for years to come.” 

Ward rose from his chair, shoved it noisily 
out of the way, and opened the door as if to 
go out. Then he hesitated, turned round, and 
said: “You had better consent to my leaving 
you with your full and free approbation rather 
than without it. The time may come when I 
may take a notion to step out without it, of my 
own accord. I wish” — turning to Mrs. Bel- 


Ward's Prescription. 


187 


mont, who was present — “that yoii would use 
your influence on my side of the question.” 

Then he went out. 

Dr. Belmont turned abruptly to his wife. 

“ You don’t think, Lucia ” he began. 

She looked into his surprised eyes calmly 
and convincingly. 

“ I do,” she said, simply, without pausing in 
her sewing ; “ I think you would better let him 
go, George.” 


CHAPTEE XXIL 

THE GATHERING SHADOW. 

S O Mr. Eandall took Ward away. He was 
to stay with him until he was twenty- 
one years old, and then, if dissatisfied, he 
could change his business, if so minded. Ward 
was in high spirits, and watched the arranging 
and packing of his effects with excellent grace 
and condescension. 

“You needn’t mind fixing up all manner of 
things,” said he to his stepmother, as he saw 
her laying in a stock of new handkerchiefs and 
socks; “I’ll soon fix up myself all right. It 
won’t take me long to earn all the clothes that 
I want, and more, too.” 

“Nevertheless,” she replied, “it will be nice 
to have these things in case of emergency. 
There is an old book which says, ‘ thou knowest 
not what shall be on the morrow.’ I always 
think of that when I am going on a journey. I 
want to reserve a place for this however,” pro- 
ducing a very handsome copy of the Holy 
Scriptures bound in Eussia leather and printed 
on fine linen paper. “This is my parting gift 
to you. Ward. I wanted to give it to you, not 
only because I feel that it is the very best pre- 
sent that I can make you, and the most lasting 
token of my regard for you, but because I be- 
lieve that your own dear mother would rather 
see you receive it, and would have given it to 
you herself had she been living on the earth 
to-day. Will you read it for her sake ? ” 

188 


The Gathering Shadow, 189 

Ward’s eyes filled with tears, as they always 
did at mention of the mother he had so dearly 
loved and so greatly mourned; and, reaching 
out a trembling hand, he took the book, and 
opened it to the flyleaf. His name was written 
within in Mrs. Belmont’s fair hand, and below 
it a verse from Frances Kidley Havergal’s little 
book. Loyal Responses: 

‘ ‘ Rest him, O loving Spirit ! O holy Dove, 

Spread thy bright wing above him ; let him rest 
Beneath its shadow ; let him know afresh 
The infinite truth and might of thy dear name — 

‘ Our Comforter ’ ! As gentlest touch will stay 
The strong vibrations of a jarring chord. 

So lay thy hand upon his heart, and still 
Each overstraining throb, each pulsing pain ; 

Then, in the stillness, breathe upon the strings, 

And let thy holy music overfiow 

With soothing power his listening, resting soul.” 

“ Cannot you make me that promise, my dear 
boy ? ” asked his stepmother, as he turned away, 
after softly laying the beautiful gift among the 
other remembrances in his trunk. “Will you 
not read it, and let the Spirit rest you ? ” 

“I’ll think about it,” he said, reluctantly. “I 
don’t like to make promises of this kind.” 
“Why so, my dear?” 

“Because they are considered binding, and 

I suppose they are binding ; and I how is 

a fellow to know whether he can keep them or 
not?” he asked abruptly, stopping before her 
and gazing reflectively into her eyes. 

“There is everlasting strength in the great 
Kedeemer of souls, my dear, if only you could 
learn to trust that strength. But I will change 
my request a little, and ask. Will you try to 
read this Bible, Ward?” 


190 


An Hundred- Fold. 


The boy nodded. 

“Yes,” said he, “I’ll try it, if it will do you 
any good, and for her sake, if she hears me say 
it ” ; and he wiped away a tear that would come 
stealing down his face. 

“And for your own soul’s sake, my dear boy. 
We will pray the dear Saviour to help you to 
keep it — the most precious promise that you 
ever made in your life. Now, one word more. 
I have a very old and tried friend living in 
Pasadena. His name is Austin McVay, and he 
is a prominent lawyer there. I have written 
him a little note, which, if you should ever 
chance to see him, or to need a friend, will act 
as an introduction. I should be very glad for 
you to know him.” 

“All right,” said Ward, evidently relieved 
that the interview was so nearly at an end; 
“tuck it in. I’ll promise you to remember 

that; and thank you for the book. You 

yare very good.” 

So saying, he turned and left the room. 

The next day Dr. Belmont, with tear-dimmed 
eyes and an aching, struggling heart, watched 
the train bear away this son of his. He felt an 
impression that it was letting him go forever ; 
that he would never have him again; but he 
tried hard to realize that God had him in his 
care and keeping, and that, perhaps, this was 
one of the inscrutable ways in which a “ frown- 
ing providence” hid the “smiling face.” He 
went home, and applied himself more assidu- 
ously than ever to his church and his pastoral 
work. The church, too, was not in the pros- 
perous condition that it had been in a year or 


The Gathering Shadow. 191 

two before. Differences of opinion had arisen 
here and there over certain questions ; some of 
the members had been delinquent in duty, and 
had to be brought up for examination ; and 
there were hard feelings manifested, and ill- 
savored reports going about. Some said that 
the pastor was partial ; that he visited some of 
the people of his congregation more than he 
did others, and that it was quite noticeable 
that he went to see those who had the money, 
and left the poor folks to get along as “sheep 
without a shepherd.” Others complained that 
his wife was worldly, and indifferent to the in- 
terests of the church. Dr. Belmont was not a 
man to pay much attention to these things. 
He had always made it a point to close his 
ears to everything of a slanderous nature, un- 
less it demanded the action of the church ; but 
he had heard these reports, no doubt; and the 
knowledge that such a state of things existed 
wore upon him and affected his health. Though 
as kindly as ever, his old gaiety had left him, 
in a great degree, and threads of silver were 
thickening amid the raven locks of his abund- 
ant hair, and the lines of care deepened on his 
brow each day. 

Besides these things, his labors were abund- 
ant and very heavy. His church was a large 
one, and, being a popular minister, he was fre- 
quently called upon to preside over important 
meetings which had no immediate connection 
with his own church, besides uniting with his 
brother ministers in supporting two mission 
churches in the city — one among the colored 
people in the south end, and one in the inter- 


192 


An Uundred-F'old. 


est of the railroad men over the river. All this 
necessitated a great deal of preaching, the hold- 
ing of many extra meetings, and much burden- 
bearing that was done solely for the Master, with- 
out a single hope of pecuniary reward. These 
accumulated burdens served to weaken the 
physical strength of the pastor of Grace-street 
Church, and his wife watched him with anxious, 
troubled eyes, as every week he stooped a little 
more, and grew more care-worn and weary. 
Thus the summer dragged away, and the leaves 
began to fall in lavish abundance on the frost- 
bitten grass, and the wind grew noisy and blus- 
tering, and talked of an early winter and a se- 
vere one. An epidemic broke out in the city, 
followed by severe and protracted sickness and 
many deaths. A large number of Dr. Belmont’s 
congregation were prostrated by it, and his pas- 
toral work was almost doubled. He became so 
nervous from his overwork that he could not 
sleep, and many a night would find him up and 
dressed, unable to rest among his pillows. 

Meanwhile, a letter or two had arrived from 
Ward — brief, boyish epistles, but, on the whole, 
encouraging. Several had been received from 
Mr. Bandall, also, which, in the anxious father’s 
estimation, were much more to the purpose, 
stating that “the boy is answering my expecta- 
tions, and doing first-rate;” so that Dr. Bel- 
mont’s apprehensions were greatly relieved. 

Kate, too, was doing well. She was still 
teaching at Clinton. She had made a grand 
success of her first term, and had been engaged 
for the whole of the coming year. She seemed 
to have the faculty of making the children learn, 


The Gathering Shadow. 193 

whether they wanted to do so or not ; and the 
two little German boys, who had been such 
hopeless dunces in the estimation of every 
teacher before her, were, thanks to her pains- 
taking efforts, really beginning to see into the 
mysteries of knowledge, and to unlock the 
doors leading into the secret chambers of 
learning. 

With Sadie Sloan she was not so successful. 
In the first place, she had conceived a great 
dislike for this girl ; and although she did her 
duty by her as regarded teaching the girl her 
lessons and seeing that she understood them 
thoroughly, she slighted her in every other re- 
spect ; so that it was very generally understood 
by the other girls that Sadie was to be counted 
out of their good times, many of which Kate 
herself arranged for them. Sadie, however, 
never seemed to bear any malice, and even ap- 
peared to have an extraordinary regard for 
Kate. She was a curious girl, too. She would 
sit and gaze abstractedly at Kate while the 
other girls were gathered about her, never 
making a single remark upon the* subject under 
discussion, and suddenly astonishing everybody 
by some question quite wide of the mark; as 
one day at recess : “ Miss Belmont, why do you 
call that prayer you make every morning Hhe 
Lord’s Prayer ’ ? ” 

“Because it is the Lord’s, to be sure,” said 
Kate, rather indignantly ; for above all things 
she hated this girl’s questions about religion, 
as generally having a rather close application. 
“ He made it, of course.” 

“Did he?” asked Sadie, innocently. “I 
13 


194 


An Hundred-Fold. 


fhoTight it was yours. Can’t a person have a 
prayer of their own?” 

“ Why, of course they can, if they want to,” 
said Kate, irritably. 

“ I should think that you’d want to have one 
of your very own to say, like Miss Richie and 
Mr. Percival,” persisted the girl, with a quiz- 
zical look. “If I knew how, I should make 
one for every morning of my life — a new one.” 

“You are perfectly welcome to do as you 
please about that,” said Kate, promptly. “As 
for myself, I think that the Lord 'knew how to 
pray better than anybody else.” 

But Sadie was not to be put down. 

“Miss Belmont,” said she, “what is sanctifi- 
cation ? ” 

Kate pushed her copy of Webster over to 
Sadie, with the remark, “Satisfy yourself!” 

The girl took the book, and read aloud the 
definition, the other girls peeping interestedly 
over her shoulder : “ Separated or set apart to 
a holy use.” 

Then Sadie inquired, solemnly: “Miss Bel- 
mont, are you sanctified ? ” 

Kate’s answer was so full of volume that no 
further interrogatories were put at that time, 
though many were crowding for utterance. It 
was short, but full of feeling: “No, I’m not.” 

In spite of these little annoyances, which 
stirred her up a good deal more than they 
ought to have done, Kate had certainly grown 
happier with her work. Harold was aston- 
ished at the change in her. She had learned 
to smile instead of frown, and the habitual 
self-control which she was obliged to manifest 


The Gathering Shadow. 195 

in order to control her school improved her 
temper amazingly. Finding her so pleasant, 
Harold had come to see her, of late, more fre- 
quently, and in this way had become acquainted 
with Miss Bichie, between whom and himself 
there had sprung up a special friendship. 
Through her he became better acquainted with 
Clinton’s possibilities, and, with Mr. Percival’s 
help, organized a Young Men’s Christian As- 
sociation in the place. Once in a while he 
found it possible to go up and stay over Sun- 
day, and then a grand song- service was held, 
which ladies as well as gentlemen were expected 
to attend. In these exercises Kate found full 
scope for her voice, was duly admired, and en- 
joyed it immensely. To Miss Kichie Harold 
confided his ambition to be a minister of the 
gospel, too — something which he had kept se- 
cret from everybody but his father.” 

One Sunday Harold and Kate were to sing 
together at the Young Men’s Christian Associa- 
tion hall, and Harold was to bring with him a 
professor from the university to address the 
young men and help to create a deeper inter- 
est in the work ; but Saturday evening arrived, 
and they did not come. More than usual pre- 
parations had been made, and Kate was much 
disappointed. She was getting ready for the 
meeting, when Mr. Knox came hurriedly in with 
a telegram. It ran thus : 

‘‘ To Miss Kate Belmont^ Clinton : 

“Father was stricken with paralysis two 
hours ago. Insensible still. Three doctors in 
attendance. Will telegraph again later. 

“ Harold Belmont, Oakland'^ 


196 


An Hundred- Fold, 


The particulars, as learned afterwards, were 
these : Dr. Belmont had been feeling hardly as 
well as usual for several days. A strange 
numbness stealing over him had been apparent 
at times, and the disinclination to sleep had 
grown more decided. It was on this account 
that Harold had thought it best to remain at 
home, for he was very much worried about his 
father. Still, the pastor had prepared his two 
sermons as usual, and had also arranged for a 
meeting in the “south end” that afternoon. A 
larger congregation than common greeted him, 
as one of the city pastors was absent, and one 
was unable to preach because of the epidemic ; 
so that Dr. Belmont felt, perhaps, excited to a 
little extra effort. The choir had sung the 
opening anthem, a visiting minister made the 
invocation, and the pastor arose, read his text, 
and began his sermon. From the first, Mrs. 
Belmont, who sat in a front pew, noticed a 
strange tremulousness in his voice and man- 
ner. A few minutes more, and his face became 
pallid, his hands shook, and his usually clear, 
resounding voice sounded thick and unnatural. 
Soon the faltering tones sank to a whisper, and 
the next moment he stopped speaking alto- 
gether, and a look of horror spread over the 
congregation as they saw his lips move as if 
with a vain attempt to articulate the words. A 
stifling sound proceeded from his throat; he 
groaned aloud, raised his hands to his head, as 
if he suffered there, and fell forward upon the 
desk. On the instant a score of helpers rushed 
from the nearest point in the congregation and 
raised him in their arms. A physician in the 


The Gathering Shadow. 197 

audience came forward and proffered his serv- 
ices, while half-a-dozen boys ran out to sum- 
mon a carriage to convey the sufferer home. 
He was quite insensible. Friends and neigh- 
bors crowded into the house on Kose street to 
help, but found themselves able to do but little, 
while the wife, calm, and even tearless, skill- 
fully arranged everything to help the physicians 
in their examination. Nellie sat down with her 
hat still on, with Brownie on her lap, and Ma- 
mie and Clyde wildly sobbing by her side, and 
wept softly, in her gentle, patient way ; but not 
a tear rolled down the white face of Mrs. Bel- 
mont as she stood by the bedside of her hus- 
band awaiting the decision of the physicians. 
It did not come till late in the afternoon, and 
Harold brought it to her with a suffering face. 

“ Dr. Marsh says it is the opinion of all the 
doctors,” said Harold, “that he may live, per- 
haps, for years, but that his work is over. His 
return to consciousness and speech is greatly 
in his favor. They think that they can free the 
brain, but the rest of the left side is the same 
as dead, and will probably never regain its 
sensation. But he will never again be able to 
do anything — never lift himself off his bed. 
Oh! mother, it is so terrible! What shall we 
do?” 

“ Be just as brave as we can,” she said, with 
a struggling heart. “It is such a comfort to 
us that papa still lives, and that his reason is 
spared to him, and that there are so many of 
us to be hands and feet to him. Let us think 
of him, not of ourselves, and make every bit of 
sunshine for him that we can.” 


198 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“How does Mrs. Belmont take it?” asked 
Mrs. Eansom and Miss Bush of Lucy. “ Have 
you heard anything ? ” 

“They say she acts dreadfully unfeeling,” 
was the response ; “ nobody has seen her shed 
a tear.” 

“ Humph ! ” said Mrs. Hansom, disgusted, “ I 
do think that it is a judgment on her. She has 
brought nothing but ill-luck to that house from 
first to last. The children aren’t the same little 
creatures. Kate’s had to go. Ward was driven 
off, and now the Doctor’s struck. The Lord 
isn’t going to prosper that woman — mark my 
words.” 

“I hope that Kate won’t come flying back 
and take all the burdens of that house on her 
shoulders,” said Miss Bush. “I mean to ‘put 
a flea in her ear.’ ” 

“ I think that she might at least feel badly,” 
said Lucy, “but folks say that you wouldn’t 
know that anything had happened.” 

Poor Mrs. Belmont! No one ever saw her 
alone with her God in her closet. 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

RAINT DATS, 


N OW that the pastor of the church of Oak- 
land lay sick and helpless on his bed, 
his work all over, his duty done, there 
were plenty to sympathize, and many to offer 
help. If the kind words had only come a little 
sooner, if the help had but been rendered when 
his heart was breaking with the load which it 
carried, it might have saved him; but it was 
too late now. The trembling right hand would 
never write another sermon ; the tremulous, 
hesitating voice would never deliver one. All 
day long, and day after day, he lay in the 
quiet, darkened room, unable to move without 
help, and speaking with difficulty. As there 
was the greatest necessity for keeping him free 
from all excitement, no one was allowed in his 
room except those in attendance. They had 
speedily fallen into line in regard to their vari- 
ous duties. Harold had installed a strong 
young woman in the kitchen, leaving Mrs. Bel- 
mont free to minister to her sick husband, re- 
lieved only by Harold himself during a part of 
the night; and Nellie, though so fragile, man- 
aged to take care of the three children, with 
what help the hired girl and her mother could 
give her. Constrained by the terrible thought 
that her father might pass away without ever 
seeing her again, and softened by the near ap- 
proach of the “dark-winged angel,” Kate re- 
199 


200 


An Hundred-Fold. 


turned home for a few days. Once there, the 
joy of father and the children at again behold- 
ing her among them, and the unfeigned kind- 
ness and real, Christian ajffection of her step- 
mother, almost overwhelmed her; and Kate 
was, for the time being, quite gracious for her. 
But finding that her father was likely to linger, 
perhaps for months, perhaps for years; that, 
though the children seemed to love her, they 
were no longer hers in the sense in which she 
wished them to be hers, the old rebellion again 
arose within her, and she insisted upon return- 
ing to her school at once, a resolution in which 
she was supported by the Eansoms. She rea- 
soned Kate-fashion when Harold expostulated 
with her. 

“There is a great deal more sense in my 
taking care of myself now than ever there was 
before,” she said. “Our father’s salary has 
stopped, and how is this large family going to 
live on what you can make? I know pretty 
well how it is. The church was always ever so 
much behind on the salary; father has always 
been in the habit of cancelling these obliga- 
tions very largely at the close of the finan- 
cial year; and we lived about even up with 
his income when I was at home. How is 
it now, with three extra to feed, clothe, and 
educate? There is no use in talking. I can 
do nothing if I stay. Our stepmother would 
be jealous if I tried to take care of father; the 
children’s minds have been poisoned in regard 
to me ; and as to going back into that old kitchen 
again and being a drudge, I won’t do it. I will 
pay the girl’s wages. I can do that well enough. 


201 


Ramy Days. 

But I have a good position — one that I have a 
prospect of keeping. I make thirty-five dollars 
a month there — five dollars more than I could 
make in any other common school that I know 
of; and I am not inclined to let such a chance 
slip through my fingers. Besides, if I stay at 
home, I’ll fly all to pieces before long. You 
ought to know that time has not reconciled mo 
to the changes here ; so, if you want to avoid 
an explosion, you’ll let me go.” And go she did. 

After all, there was much truth in what Kate 
said. Dr. Belmont’s family had been an ex- 
pensive one, and the end of the year generally 
found him more or less embarrassed. Things 
had not been so easy to manage since the chil- 
dren’s mother died. She had been a very wise 
steward, and had handled the household money 
in a way all her own, the beneficent effects of 
which had been felt outside her own home and 
among the very poor. Since her death, ex- 
penses had seemed to double up, for Kate did 
not know how to economize, and the good pas- 
tor often felt the pitiful truth that he had not 
the wherewithal to bestow in common charity. 

In a few weeks Harold began to understand 
more of his father’s affairs than he had ever 
known before. Unpaid bills were brought to 
him, one after another, some of them a year or 
two old; and he soon came to the end of his 
father’s bank account, and found that aU in the 
world which they had to call their own was the 
house on Bose street. Even this was under a 
heavy mortgage, and would have been sold over 
their heads had not Mrs. Belmont, without one 
word to anybody, lifted the mortgage with the 


202 


An Hundred-Fold, 


remnant of her own little fortune. At the best, 
they were in very straitened circumstances. 
Harold’s salary was a meagre one ; many young 
men would have found it far too small to meet 
their individual wants; and the question of how 
the family were going to live, the little oneS 
obtain their education, and the sick father be 
taken care of properly, came up all too soon to 
be answered. The winter promised to be a se- 
vere one. The mercury went down below zero 
before Christmas, and stayed there for days; 
and they were obliged, of course, to keep fires 
all night on account of the patient. Worse than 
all, the physician had told them that they would 
be obliged to hire a night nurse. Mrs. Belmont 
and Harold were already wearing out, and a 
strong man was needed to lift the patient and 
give him the care which he needed. Such a 
nurse would cost as much as ten dollars a week ; 
and how they were going to command such a 
sum of money was more than Harold could 
conceive of. His distracted thoughts turned 
in every direction, only to return to him void. 
In his extremity, he called his stepmother into 
the study, and laid the case before her. 

“It is just as Dr. Marsh says,” he remarked, 
in conclusion. “There is no certainty how 
long this may last. Father may live for years 
in the same helpless condition in which he is 
at present, and you will wear out; indeed, you 
are very much worn already; and I cannot 
work during the day and take care of him at 
night. A night nurse does seem indispensable, 
and yet I do not see where the money to pay 
him is coming from,” 


Rainy Days. 


203 


Mrs. Belmont smiled — a little wearily, it may 
be, but hopefully and brightly, too, and said : 
‘‘ My dear Harry, we are ‘ children of the King.’ 
‘The world is his, and the fulness thereof.’ He 
has promised never to leave us nor forsake us. 
Shall we not trust him ? ” 

“Yes, above all things else,” returned Har- 
old, with emotion. “I would not have you 
worry for anything, mother. There will, doubt- 
less, be some provision made to meet the case. 
But I thought that perhaps you might be able 
to make a suggestion — might point out some 
way in which I might earn the extra money. I 
have racked my poor brain, and can think of 
nothing.” 

Mrs. Belmont seated herself in the large arm- 
chair, and leaned her head against it, wearily. 

“ I cannot see how you can do more, Harry, 
than you are doing already,” she said, at last, 
speaking very thoughtfully ; “but I think that 
I can arrange to do something. If we are to 
have a night nurse, I shall be able to get my 
regular rest ; and your father does not need a 
great deal of attendance during the day. He 
sleeps a good deal then, and makes very little 
trouble. The restless period is at night, and, 
as Dr. Marsh says, that is the time when he re- 
quires a skilled nurse. You must know,” she 
continued, smiling up at the young man beside 
her, “that I have a trade. I was a fashionable 
dressmaker for some years before I married 
your father. It is a lucrative business where 
it is carried on well. Of course, I could not 
hope to do as well as I used to do, but I could 
make more than enough to meet this trouble,” 


204 


An Hundred-Fold, 


Harold burst forth at once: “How in the 
world can you think of such a thing, mother? 
What would people say if I allowed it ? The 
idea of your marrying my father and going to 
work at dressmaking to support him! You 
have already done too much. You have saved 
our home to us. Please do not mention it 
again. I will try to borrow the money in some 
way.” 

“I beg that you will do nothing of the kind,” 
said Mrs. Belmont, firmly. “ There is no dis- 
honor in honest labor. Why should you mind 
such unkind things as a few people may have 
to say? Of course, when I married your father 
I did not expect to have to do this, but I am 
glad to be able to do it. I would much rather 
have the privilege of doing this than to be ob- 
liged to stand by and see another do it. I ex- 
pected to be a helpmate, you know.” 

Harold looked at her wonderingly. 

“ Is this the way you take trouble ? ” he asked. 
“ I wish that 1 could smile as you do over the 
inevitable. You almost look as if you rejoiced 
over your tribulations.” 

Mrs. Belmont shook her head. 

“ I do not desire affliction,” said she ; “ that 
would be unnatural ; and yet, if we believe and 
trust the wisdom and mercy of our Saviour, 
we ought to look at them as ‘ blessings in dis- 
guise.’ As to caring for what people say, do 
you think it best to mind that? They will have» 
their opinions* let them. I am not serving the 
world ; so that I do my duty, I have no need to 
worry about what it says, either this or that.” 

Still Harry argued the case, and was only 


Rainy Days. 205 

half-satisfied at the conclusion that they reached 
after a long conference, namely, that Mrs. Bel- 
mont should go out that very afternoon and 
solicit patronage among her friends. 

It was four o’clock, and Mrs. Wade, the wife 
of the St. Paul’s Methodist minister, had just 
come home from a missionary meeting, full to 
the brim with the letters read from the home 
and foreign fields, and especially of something 
which had been said by the president, Mrs. 
Fairfax. 

“Let us not forget,” said she, “what some 
one has so beautifully called our ‘ wayside min- 
istries.’ There are opportunities coming to us 
every day of helping the unfortunate, rescuing 
the perishing, lifting up the fallen, and giving 
to the needy. Our Master said, ‘ The poor ye 
have with you always.’ Let us remember that. 
Let us not forget and step over the little, com- 
mon, every-day opportunities of doing good, 
which lie at our very feet, in our eagerness to 
reach out after the great and noble. ‘He that 
is faithful in that which is least will be faithful 
also in much.’ 

“ ‘If you cauuot give your thousands, 

You can give the widow’s mite; 

And the least you do for Jesus 
Will be precious in his sight.’ ” 

So full was Mrs. Wade’s heart of this uplift- 
ing thought that she hardly waited to take ofi 
her wraps before getting the hymn-book and 
hunting up “Your Mission.” Having found it, 
she sat down to the piano, and played and sang 
it with so much interest that she did not notice 
the servant usher in a lady until her name had 


206 


An Hundred- Fold. 


been twice pronounced. She turned then, and 
rose to meet Mrs. Belmont, approaching her 
with a face full of thoughtful sympathy. 

“My dear Mrs. Belmont, how very glad I 
am to see you!” said Mrs. Wade. “This is 
really an unexpected pleasure, for I had not 
expected you to be able to return calls in these 
days of your affliction, when you are necessa- 
rily so much confined at home. Take this 
chair,” wheeling forward a capacious, velvet- 
cushioned rocker; “it is so much more com- 
fortable than that you have selected. Sit over 
the register, too. I know just how penetrating 
the cold is, for I have been out this afternoon, 
myself. How is the sick husband ? ” 

“Much the same,. thank you,” replied Mrs. 
Belmont, in her quiet, ladylike manner. “ His 
left side continues hopelessly inanimate, but 
his right side is much better, and his brain was 
never clearer than it is now. In many respects 
he is much improved from what he was at first, 
but ” 

“There is little hope of his ever getting off 
that bed, I suppose,” said Mrs. Wade, as her 
visitor hesitated from excess of emotion. “Oh! 
it seems such a pity, doesn’t it? And yet I 
know that no one is more assured than you 
are, my dear Mrs. Belmont, that our Father in 
heaven knows best. What would we do — how 
could we bear these things — if it were not for 
the gracious promises of the good old book? 
My husband said, the last time he visited Dr. 
Belmont, that he thought he had never seen so 
happy a Christian as the Doctor — lying there 
on his bed so helpless and full of suffering day 


207 


Rainy Days. 

after day, and yet so bright, so filled with rich 
thought, with such song in his soul! That is 
just the way Mr. Wade expressed it. And he 
said that he came home refreshed and strength- 
ened beyond expression, and with material for 
two or three sermons. Said he: ‘I went to 
minister, but I was ministered unto.’ They 
miss him, Mrs. Belmont, they miss him sorely 
all over town. He used to be such a help in 
the ministers’ meetings. Mr. Wade said that 
he had a special faculty for moving things.” 

“Thank you so much,” said Mrs. Belmont, 
smiling through her tears. “Your kind words 
help me more than I have words to express. 
There come times in the lives of us all when 
we especially need the ministry of believers. 

‘ Into each life some rain must fall , 

Some days must be dark and dreary.’ 

The rainy days have come to us in more senses 
than one, Mrs. Wade. Our financial prospects 
are very cloudy and dark. Our expenses are 
extremely heavy.” 

“They certainly must be,” said Mrs. Wade, 
sympathetically. 

“You will not wonder, knowing this, that I 
find it necessary to help a little,” continued the 
visitor, trying to get above the pain of speak- 
ing of her distresses to others. “ I have done 
nicely at dressmaking in my time, and I thought 
that, if I might have your patronage and also 
that of some other influential ladies of the city, 
I might again do something to lift the burden 
which is getting too heavy for our good son 
Harold to bear.” 


208 An Hundred’Fold. 

Little Mrs. Wade’s eyes shone with unshed 
tears as she grasped the hand of her visitor 
and assured her of her most hearty help and 
her widest influence. 

“You know,” said she, “I have two young 
daughters who are almost large enough to think 
that they must have everything ; and I have a 
host of lovely Christian ladies on my list of ac- 
quaintances who will love to do anything in 
the world for you. How soon can you begin ? ” 

“My dear friend,” replied Mrs. Belmont, 
rising, for she was in haste to depart, “I will 
begin just as soon as I can get the material to 
begin on.” 

“ Then I will bring you the wherewithal to- 
morrow. And, dear Mrs. Belmont, if there is 
anything that I can do for you, please let me 
know. I shall consider it a favor. Don’t stand 
on ceremony. Eemember that we are all the 
Lord’s stewards. ‘ The silver and the gold are 
his.’ ” 

Mrs. Belmont bent over and gave the little 
lady a warm kiss in answer. Then she turned 
hastily away, and went down the steps into the 
street, Mrs. Wade looking after her with swim- 
ming eyes as she thought of the missionary 
meeting and its ‘ wayside ministries.’ 


CHAPTEB XXIV. 

MAMIE'S TOUNO PEOPLE'S SOCIETY, 

A WHOLE year had passed away since 
that sad Sunday when Dr. Belmont was 
stricken in his pulpit with paralysis. 
They were all getting used to seeing him lying 
among the pillows now, the pale, quiet sufferer; 
quite used to seeing another minister make his 
pastoral calls, and preach each Sabbath morn- 
ing and evening in his pulpit ; used to having a 
night nurse come in at six o’clock in the even- 
ing and go away at six in the morning ; used to 
the lights and fires burning all night, the foot- 
steps passing to and fro in the midst of their 
dreams, and the dark days when pain reigned 
in the quiet room, and the children had to sit 
in the dining-room and talk in whispers. 

These days of extreme pain were growing 
fewer, however, and the patient was really im- 
proving. He would never be able to walk 
again, but there were times when the nurse 
could lift him into his invalid chair, in whose 
soft depths he could sit, perhaps, for half-an- 
hour at a time. His left arm and leg were 
crippled and useless, but his right gradually 
gained in strength, and his nerves became very 
much better, so that a certain amount of com- 
pany was not only allowable, but desirable. 
The active brain longed to see and know some- 
thing of the outside world ; pined to be still of 
use to the perishing ; and visitors of all degrees 
were most gladly welcomed by the good Doc- 
14 209 


^10 An Hundred-J^old. 

tor. It was a pity that the visitors did not 
realize what a blessing they brought with them, 
and come oftener; but they were such a bus^ 
people, most of them, that they soon found it 
burdensome to slip in frequently and see their 
old pastor; and days dragged heavily to the 
shut-in minister. 

To Mamie and Brownie papa lived in bed; 
and to knock at his door two or three times 
every day, and to be told by his soft, pleasant 
voice to “come in,” was going visiting. They 
liked nothing half so well as to tiptoe in and 
seat themselves on the side of his bed, and en- 
tertain him with the bits of news that children 
so dearly love to tell. They were fond, also, of 
taking their spare pennies and stealing off up 
street, hand in hand, to “buy poor papa some- 
thing nice.” Sometimes it was an orange, or a 
bunch of Malaga grapes ; but oftener it was a 
small package of fancy crackers to soak in his 
milk, for papa was not allowed tea and coffee. 
These they would place in a dainty glass dish 
beside the flowered china bowl which held his 
milk, and bear it in to him on the little waiter 
for a “picnic”; and papa would enjoy it every 
bit as much as they did. 

They had now grown used, too, to Kate and 
Ward being away; and to Nellie’s hard, hack- 
ing cough and feeble step; and to mamma 
making a sewing-room of the sitting-room; to 
the ladies coming in round by the side door at 
all hours of the day to have their dresses tried 
on ; to the piles of shimmering silks and other 
rich fabrics, with attendant laces and ribbons, 
lying on chairs and tables : and to the sewing- 


Mamies Young People's Society. 211 

machine going all day long with its busy click, 
click, click ; and to the little sign over the door : 

“Mbs. Lucia Belmont, Dressmakek.” 

It was in the long summer vacation that it 
first came into Mamie’s mind. I think that the 
dear Lord must have had something to do with 
it, too, for no one had dropped a word that 
could have started such an idea; but Mamie 
was a thoughtful little girl, and it came into 
her mind, as I said, one morning in the sum- 
mer, while she was lying in the hammock with 
Brownie, gazing lazily up into the blue sky 
with the fleecy white clouds sailing through it 
like little white ships on the boundless depths 
of old ocean. She was a very sympathetic 
child, and had felt “papa’s lonely Sundays” 
very much. After morning prayers, which 
were always held in his room, and in which 
they all joined, there was neither song nor 
service, except that mamma and the children 
sometimes sang some selections from memory 
in the gloaming. Mamie and Brownie did the 
best that they could to bring home with them 
the Sunday-school lesson and the sermon ; but 
it was a very pitiful little effort, and in despair 
they soon abandoned it. Once they even went 
so far as to go up to the new minister, hand in 
hand, and to ask him, in a very weak, plaintive 
little voice, if he wouldn’t please come and 
preach papa a little sermon ; and the minister 
laid his young hand upon their heads, smiled 
into their tearful eyes, and promised very read- 
ily; but I regret to add that he forgot it the 
next moment, and those two blessed children 


212 


An Hundred- Fold, 


looked down tlie street in vain for him all that 
whole, long week ! They never had the cour- 
age to ask him again. All these things might 
have brought the thought into Mamie’s dear 
little head, for all that I know; but I like to 
think that there was the ministry of angels 
about it, too. 

It came all at once, like an inspiration, and 
she jumped up and shook Brownie — for that 
was one of Mamie’s strange little ways when 
she was excited — until his ringlets fairly flew 
about his head like spun gold. 

“You precious little darling !” she exclaimed, 
rapturously, “I’ve thought of just the loveliest 
something Come out into the arbor, where 
we can talk it over. Oh, my !” 

Brownie’s two little black- stockinged legs 
fairly flew out of the hammock, and his big 
straw hat — worn to preserve his complexion — 
was hastily dumped over his curls, hinder side 
before, with the anchor ribbons falling over 
his face, while his anxious “Wait, Mamie!” 
rang, out after the little sister, who had started 
in advance. 

“Sit down here. Brownie, and don’t inter- 
rupt a single word,’' said Mamie, upon reach- 
ing the arbor. “If mamma lets us, we are go- 
ing to have a Young People’s Society.” 

“What for, and where?” asked Brownie, 
breathlessly. 

“Now, Doll,” said Mamie, conferring upon 
him a favorite pet name, “I want you to hush 
until I get entirely through ; then, if you want 
to talk, you can. Of course it’s for papa, and 
it’s to be in his room on Sunday afternoons. 


Mamies Young People's Society, 213 

As many people as can get into his room 
will be in it, and those who can’t will have to 
sit outside, of course. Let me see — who’ll we 
have? There are the Benton girls and boys 
right across the alley from us; there are six of 
them, and they never go to Sunday-school or 
any such place. Then there are Ealph and 
Myra Decker, and the Clinton boys — three of 
them — and I guess that Pussie Lawrence will 
come, if her mother will let her. She is the 
sweetest little darling, I think ! You know what 
a Young People’s Society is, Brownie? Like 
the one that we have at the church. You went 
with me one time a good while ago. We have 
flower committees and lookout committees and 
sunshine committees ; and papa will love to 
help the poor folks, you know, because you 
know, Doll, that’s what a Young People’s So- 
ciety is for — to help Jesus take care of folks 
and make them good. Won’t it be beautiful?” 

‘‘ Yes,” said the little boy, nodding his head 
wisely, ‘‘it will be very bootiful; but it would 
be a good deal bootifuller if Jesus was here to 
go wiv us.” 

“Why, he does go with us every single time,” 
said Mamie, with wide-open eyes. “Don’t you 
remember last Sunday night mamma read and 
talked about the promises, and this was one of 
them : ‘ Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the 
end of the world ’ ? ” 

“ It would seem more like as if he were wiv 
us, though;” replied Brownie, “if we could see 
him and hold his hand, don’t you think, Ma- 
mie ? Do you expect him to your Young Peo- 
ple’s Society, Mamie ? ” 


214 


An Hundred-Fold, 


“ Of course,” said the little girl, with shining 
eyes. ‘‘It wouldn’t be of the least account 
without him. You have a great deal to learn, 
I see. Brownie.” 

“ S’pose we go in and ask mamma about the 
s’ciety, Mamie,” suggested the little man, not 
altogether relishing his sister’s last remark. 

No sooner said than done. Their light feet 
skipped into the sewing-room gleefully. 

“Mamma! Nellie I we’ve thought of some- 
thing! at least, I have,” added Mamie, who, 
like most little girls, wished to claim the credit 
for all her original ideas. 

“Well,” said mamma, encouragingly, laying 
some goods on her lapboard, and beginning to 
cut out a cunning little jacket with her shining 
big shears, “put this dress on the lounge, 
dear.” 

Mamie took the pretty dress and laid it away 
very carefully, admiring its handsome folds 
with an outspoken wish that she had one just 
like it. Then she added : “ Oh ! mamma, it is 
something so nice for papa’s lonely Sunday 
afternoons — a Young People’s Society.” 

Then away went her tongue enumerating the 
good things connected with it. 

“ Do you think papa can endure it, mamma ? ” 
asked Nellie. “ I know that we have been try- 
ing for ever so long to think of something that 
would make the Sabbath afternoons more en- 
joyable to him; but I don’t know. It would be 
lovely, if he could bear it.” 

“I haven’t a doubt but that it would be an 
uplift to him,” said Mrs. Belmont. “He has 
always been such a busy, busy man, and he 


Mamies Young People^ s Society. 215 

misses these things so mucli. Besides, he will 
make it a means to reach out and help others. 
He lies there and thinks and thinks, and with 
no assurance that it will end in anything but 
thought. You may slip in and ask him, any- 
way, my darlings. It will do no harm to go 
that far.” 

Mamie and Brownie slipped in accordingly, 
but they were not gone a great while. When 
they came out, the tears were rolling down 
Mamie’s face, and Brownie was wiping his eyes 
with his tiny handkerchief in a very suspicious 
manner. 

“ He — our papa — bressed us,” said Brownie, 
choking with emotion. “ He put his hand on 
our heads, and said bootiful words about the 
dear Jesus keeping us like lambs in the fold, 
and like little chickies under his wings ; and we 
cried, didn’t us, Mamie?” 

“And he prayed such a pretty prayer for us, 
too,” said Mamie. “He asked the dear Lord 
to help us to make a very Christ-like so- 
ciety; and we’re going to begin it right away, 
mamma. I’ve a great notion to ask old Ben 
Batt. He’s a real kind, queer old fellow, with 
a wooden leg, you know; but he comes to our 
church ; and whenever I go by his house, he’s 
always sitting out on the porch and singing 
hymns and the like ; and he always calls to me 
and asks how papa is. I think he is a real 
nice old man.” 

“Yes,” said Brownie, sympathetically, “he 
is soT 

“All right,” said mamma, smiling, “just so 
you don’t get more than we can take care of. 


216 


An Huyidred-Fold, 


I suppose, though, that we can throw open the 
sitting-room if we have an overflow.” 

‘‘ Papa’s apartment is quite roomy,” said Nel- 
lie, “ and will probably hold all who will come.” 

For the next few days the children were ex- 
tremely busy, and when Sunday afternoon came 
papa’s room presented a most festive appear- 
ance. Hanging baskets hung in the two win- 
dows, filled with ferns and sprays of English 
ivy, and every vase in the house was filled with 
flowers, and the room was fragrant with them. 
The upright piano had been wheeled into the 
large hall, right before the open door, where 
papa could see it very plainly, and a pile of 
song- books lay invitingly upon it. Chairs from 
the other rooms were brought in, and arranged 
in a semicircle facing the bed, which had been 
wheeled around so that the Doctor could catch 
a glimpse, every now and then, of the sweet 
summer life peering in through the open doors 
and windows. He had his dinner early, and 
Mamie herself brushed his hair with the great- 
est nicety. Mamie took care, too, to wipe the 
dinner dishes for Betty Ann Andrews, the hired 
girl, so that she could put on her Sunday dress 
and come in; and pretty soon everything was 
ready. They all came — the Bentons and Clin- 
tons, Kalph and Myra Decker, little Pussie Law- 
rence, and even old Ben Batt with his wooden 
leg and loud greeting. He stumped over to shake 
hands with the sick man as soon as he came in, 
saying, with a kind of fierce earnestness : “ Hol- 
loa, Parson! Going home in a chariot, I see; 
going home in a chariot 1 I kin hear the wheels 
a’ready a rollin’ down the avenues of glory for 


Mamies Young People's Society, 217 

ye. I’ve heerd you preach many a time, Parson. 
You’ve done old Ben’s soul a heap of good — 
lifted it up and gi’n it a sight of the glory-circled 
throne. Now old Ben’s come to preach to you, 
and his sarmon is, ‘Praise the Lord for his 
goodness, and for his wonderful works onto the 
children of men.’ ” 

“Yes, yes,” feebly responded the sick man, 
pressing, with what strength he had, the horny 
old hand that he held; “ ‘For he is good, and 
his mercy endureth for ever.’ ” 

“Aye!” exclaimed old Ben, clapping his 
hands, and immediately bursting into song: 

“ When we’ve been there ten thousand years, 

Bright shining as the sun, 

We've no less days to sing God’s praise 
Than when we first begun.” 

It was a blessed little meeting, and its influ- 
ence went out beyond the home circle, and 
widened like the wavelets of the sea. Old Ben 
went home refreshed, to sing over again the 
songs that he had learned, and carried in his 
great, rough, homely hand a bunch of roses for 
the little colored baby down the alley; while 
sweet and fragrant in the heart of each one 
present were the words uttered by the good 
minister — words which were the beginning of 
a better life in many. 

And thus it began, the Young People’s Society, 
to which so many flocked in the weeks to come 
as to cause an overflow in the sitting-room al- 
most every time. It was from this little society 
that there first sprang an interest in the 
forsaken district of Bed alley, where the lost 
were rescued in great numbers, the needy were 


218 An Hundred-Fold, 

succored, and an uplift was given to scores of 
young men and boys who were losing their 
bearings in the sea of life, and drifting toward 
the breakers without knowledge. In fact, it 
gave Dr. Belmont an opportunity to carry out 
a number of his benevolent thoughts, and did 
him more good than medicine. 

Said he one day to his wife: “Lucia, I have 
had nothing help me so much as Mamie’s so- 
ciety. I can see already an awakening among 
the young people that I believe will go on to 
deep fruition. Oh! wouldn’t it be wonderful, 
dear wife, if here, upon my back in bed, I 
should live to see the greatest revival of reli- 
gion that I have ever witnessed? Somehow, 
I feel that the Spirit of the Lord is brooding 
over the face of the deep.” 

And it was so, for in the following winter a 
revival began around his humble bed that took 
hold of every church in Oakland, and spread 
out into the surrounding country. 


CHAPTEK XXV. 

SADIE SLOAN, 


nvy O doubt the reader remembers the girl of 
1 N angular form and awkward presence who 
was enrolled among Kate’s pupils at 
Clinton. Ignorant and uncultured, she was 
also a clever girl, and of such an investigating 
disposition that she was continually leading 
Kate into a maze of troubles with her ques- 
tions, especially about religion — a subject in 
which her understanding much more than her 
heart was interested. She was a bold thinker 
and a rapid talker, and had a roystering way 
with her that made the boys give her the name 
of “ Sally Tomboy.” There was a strange power 
about hei, too — an indefinable element of the 
soul — that made her able to lead the majority 
of the school at will, though she was no favor- 
ite among them, and they did not treat her 
well. 

Perhaps it was this power that steeled Kate’s 
heart against her; perhaps it was this that 
made Kate pass her by when she had dainty 
gifts of painting or embroidery to confer upon 
the girls, and handsome little booklets to dis- 
tribute at Christmas time, with nothing but a 
card or a handful of candy for Sadie. Twice 
Kate had had a little evening gathering at Mrs. 
Knox’s, and, if it had not been for the gentle 
lady herself, poor Sadie would have been left 
out in the cold. When the warm spring days 
219 


220 


An Hundred-Fold, 


began to make the out-of-door world beautiful, 
Kate hired a covered spring-wagon, and took 
the girls, all but Sadie, out to “The Glen” one 
Saturday for a delightful picnic. Did Sadie 
feel it? No one could have known that she 
did. She was just as gay and full of her fun 
as ever ; and when asked by one of the girls if 
she did not feel badly because she was not in- 
vited, she said: “No, indeed. I am not at all 
fond of going where I am not wanted. I am 
going to have a picnic at home helping my 
mother sew carpet-rags.” 

One day in the latter part of April some- 
thing happened. A terrible storm arose — one 
of those terrific thunder-storms which spring 
so suddenly out of an almost cloudless sky. It 
had been such a beautiful day. The children 
were scattered all over the yard at play, for it 
was the afternoon recess. An ominous black 
cloud suddenly obscured the sun. Within ten 
minutes it had spread like a pall across the 
sky, and from it there came the terrific roar of 
a powerful wind, accompanied by flashes of 
zigzag lightning, and followed by such awful 
thunder-crashes as rocked the old school-build- 
ing, and even broke the glass in several of the 
windows. Terror-stricken, the pupils crowded 
into the school-rooms, the little ones fleeing to 
their teachers for protection. Miss Eichie 
gathered her little flock about her, and quietly 
strove to allay their fears by reminding them 
that God rides upon the storm, and that his 
own dear Son once said to the roaring winds 
and waves that wondrous “ Peace, be still.” 

As for Kate, she had not seen the clouds in 


Sadie Sloan, 


221 


time to close the door and windows, and every- 
thing was in a state of terrible confusion. Books 
and papers were flying about from one end of 
the room to the other, and the ashes from the 
stove were making a cloud of dust. She had 
not Miss Kichie’s faith to uphold her, and she 
stood helpless among her frightened pupils, in 
the awful darkness of the storm, unable to say 
a word to encourage or comfort them. Not so 
Sadie Sloan. She flew to the windows and the 
door, and, calling upon the boys to help her, 
closed them ; then, gathering the smaller of the 
pupils about her, she began to entertain them 
with funny stories and riddles. In the midst 
of it all Miss Eichie came in hurriedly, with 
a startling question on her lips: “Are Mamie 
Eoss and Janie Hempstead and Mina Bell in 
your room. Miss Belmont? I have just this 
minute missed them.” 

Sadie Sloan spoke up at once : “ They are in 
the vacant room, I’ll bet you a dollar! They 
have a play-house in there — a prime one — I 
helped them fix it up myself. Bless their little 
hearts ! It’s very strange they didn’t run right 
out when the storm began. Holloa! there’s 
something against the door,” she continued, as 
she gave it a violent push and found it resist- 
ive. “Dave Edwards, you and Charlie Edison 
set your shoulders against it. Listen ! you can 
hear the little ones calling. Poor babies!” 
Then, as the door gave way before their united 
efforts, and opened enough to admit a passage, 
Sadie exclaimed: “They are half-buried among 
the ruins of their play-house! My goodness! 
Miss Belmont — Miss Eichie — the whole thing 


222 


An Hundred-Fold, 


is going to pieces ! A great pile of bricks has 
fallen from the chimney through the stovepipe 
hole, and that’s what’s blocking up the door! 
The windows have tumbled in or out, and the 
wind is tearing through like mad 1 Lots of the 
plastering has fallen, and the rest of it looks as 
if it was going to fall in a minute 1 ” 

Miss Eichie, pale with affright, tried to press 
forward through the terrified children, but they 
caught her dress and held her fast ; Kate said 
something, but the roar and din of the storm 
deadened the sound of her voice. The girls 
screamed and cried, and the boys shouted. 
Every one had known the untrustworthiness of 
that old vacant room; the directors had been 
warned in regard to it again and again. It was 
not really a part of the main building, but was 
an old affair which had been roughly joined on 
to accommodate an overflow of pupils. The 
windows were crazy, with half the panes of 
glass gone ; bricks from the chimney were con- 
tinually tumbling ; and the foundation was 
crumbling into decay. It had been prophesied 
many times that a big storm of wind would 
sweep the whole structure away. 

“Quick, boys!” exclaimed Sadie, spiritedly. 
“Those little girls are actually buried alive. 
It’s a wonder they are living. If that plaster- 
ing above their heads falls, they will not be. 
Don’t waste another minute. Go in and get 
them while I hold this door open. It’ll slam 
to again in a minute.” 

The boys hesitated. The rain was pouring 
in at the windows in sheets, the old desks were 
being blown about by the violence of the wind, 


Sadie Sloan, 223 

and hanging and swaying to and fro was the 
broken plastering. 

One of the boys stepped forward, then drew 
back. 

“ It ain’t only the plastering,” said he, “ it is 
rotten wood, too. There’s a decayed beam that 
is going to fall, as sure as fate. "l don’t know 
as I want to risk my neck under it.” 

“Get away, then, and let me!” exclaimed 
the intrepid Sadie, flinging the boys aside and 
rushing forward into the midst of the pouring 
rain, the roaring wind, and the dazzling light- 
ning, She reached the children, and, tearing 
away the debris which almost concealed them 
from view, lifted them out, not much hurt, but 
paralyzed by fright, and carried them to the 
door of the school-room, where they were re- 
ceived by several pairs of outstretched arms. 
It was all done so quickly that no one had a 
chance to interpose, or to aid the bold girl, 
who, just as she lifted the last child from 
among the debris of the play-house, caught her 
foot and fell. At the same instant the plaster- 
ing fell also, knocking the child out of Sadie’s 
arms, and completely burying her. The rotten 
beam, too, came down and struck Sadie on the 
back. The boys hesitated no longer. They all 
rushed forward together, followed closely by 
Miss Richie and Kate. They raised the little 
girl, who was cut on the head and was bleed- 
ing, and carried her into the school-room ; then 
they fell to work pulling the fallen plastering 
off the heroic girl, whom it had so cruelly cov- 
ered. It was four or flve minutes before they 
could release her, and then they found her, not 


224 


An Hundred-Fold. 


dead, as they had every reason to fear, not 
even unconscious, but so dreadfully hurt ! Her 
head was cut in several places, her right arm 
was broken, and her back — oh! that was the 
worst 1 The beam had evidently done its work. 
She cried out in the most anguished manner as 
they tried to raise her as gently as possible, 
and it was with the greatest difficulty that they 
managed to carry her into the school -room and 
lay her upon an improvised bed made of the 
boys’ coats. The storm had lulled but little, 
but they did not now stop to think of that for 
a moment, and half-a-dozen of the boys rushed 
off in search of Dr. Joy, while the teachers did 
their best for the suffering girl, and the pupils 
stood sobbing around. 

‘‘Sadie was so good,” they said, over and 
over again, “and we treated her mean! Do 
you remember when she took off her shawl 
that awful cold day and put it on little Lizzie 
Benton because we were plaguing Lizzie about 
not having half enough to wear? And can you 
ever forget how she stuck up for Joe Wells and 
helped him with his examples, when we all de- 
spised him so because he is slow and stupid, 
and wouldn’t let him play with us ? Seems as 
if she always made us ashamed of being mean 
by just daring to do right ; and now she’s killed! 
She dies in doing good to others ; and we will 
never get over it as long as we live.” 

“ Don’t make such a fuss over me,” said Sa- 
die, as Miss Kichie knelt by her side trying to 
soothe the agonizing pain by every means in 
her power, and Kate stood by looking help- 
lessly on with troubled eyes ; “ I ain’t worth it ; 
I ain’t anybody ; I never did anything good for 


Badie Sloan. 


225 


the Lord Jesus Christ in my life. I’m just kind 
naturally, and don’t like to see folks imposed 
upon; but I’m not a Christian, and they are 
the only ones who are going to get into the 
kingdom. ‘Thy kingdom come’ he said that 
we are to pray, didn’t he ? I never could pray 
that, for if he’s a king, he’s rich, and I’m afraid 
he won’t want me. I ain’t fit in no way to live 
among princes and such. It don’t matter. I 
would have liked to have understood some 
things better, but Miss Belmont couldn’t bother 
with me. I don’t blame her — I don’t blame 
nobody. I’ve thought to go to meeting more, 
but mother’s too poor to fix me up to look like 
anything, and these clothes made folks ashamed 
for me. I don’t wonder. I don’t blame any- 
body ; but that’s one thing I’ll be real glad to 
die for — there won’t be any more trouble about 
clothes. It’s getting a little dark ; I can’t see 
you very well ; if— if only some one would pray.” 

These words had been spoken in a low, faint 
tone, and with great difficulty. Miss Kichie 
looked at Kate. 

“ She is yours, my dear,” said she, softly. 

But Kate hid her face in her hands, crying 
out: “Oh! don’t, don’t ask me. Miss Kichie! 
I cannot pray ; indeed, I cannot ; I really don’t 
know how ! ” 

Miss Richie looked at Kate again, this time 
compassionately. She had seen — how could 
she help it? — that her partner in school- work 
was not her partner in religious life. Still, it 
was Miss Richie’s way to throw a mantle over 
the faults of people, to make charitable excuses 
of all sorts for them ; so, although she wished 
15 


2^6 An Hundred-Fold, 

with all her heart that it were otherwise, she 
said nothing further to Kate, but bent over the 
injured girl, with the words: “Sadie, are you 
willing that the Lord Jesus Christ should save 
you just as you are?” 

It was evidently very hard for the poor girl 
to reply, but she raised the hand which was 
not helpless, and pointed upward while she re- 
peated earnestly a fragment of the hymn — 

“Just as I am, without one plea 
But that thy blood was shed for me.” 

“You believe Jesus to be able as well as 
willing?” asked Miss Kichie, wiping the trick- 
ling blood from the head which they had band- 
aged as well as they could. 

Another faint smile and these words came 
from Sadie : “ He raised the dead ; he cast out 
devils; oh, yes; I know Jesus can save me.” 

“Then, Sadie, will you be saved?” inquired 
Miss Kichie, her heart in sympathy with the 
angels. 

A strange look appeared on the girl’s face. 

“I wish,” said she, “that I could say ‘yes’ 
right out. I want to be saved — of course I do. 
Everybody does when they come to die. ‘ It is 
not pleasant not to be sure of it. But some- 
thing seems to be holding me ; it seems as if I 
can’t give myself up. Miss Belmont,” suddenly 
fixiug her dimming eyes on the teacher sadly 
regarding her, “if you could try to pray for me, 
I might be able. Would you?” 

Kate fell upon her knees, and burst into an 
agony of tears. 

“Sadie, dear,” she sobbed, “don’t mind me; 
1 am not worth a thought. If you only can 


Sadie Sloan, 


227 


forgive me for being so unkind to you, it is all 
I ask. I never realized what I was doing. I 
am sorry. I shall never get over this. I will 
do anything in the world that I can to help 
you, if you only can look up, and think only of 
yourself. Oh! Miss Eichie, it is so dreadful — 
so dreadful!” 

“Pray,” gasped the dying girl, clinging to 
Kate’s hand. 

“,’Oh ! Sadie,” said Kate, the garments of 
pride falling off from her in the solemn pre- 
sence of death, “I am not fit to lead you to 
Jesus. I confess to you that I am obliged to 
go back and learn the first principles, myself. 
I fear that I have been very wrong in calling 
myself a Christian at all.” 

Sadie’s lips were growing cold. Still she im- 
plored : “If you would only pray once for me; 
if you would only go with me a little way. It’s 
all so dark, and I love you.” 

Kate kissed the hand which she held — the 
hand which had been such an unselfish, help- 
ful one; the hand which had done her so many 
kindnesses — and, bowing her face upon it, 
prayed, with an anguished heart : “ O Lord, if 
a prayer from me will do one bit of good, 
please accept it. Don’t let me be a stumbling- 
block in Sadie’s way. I am so sorry and wretch- 
ed that I might have led her to thee, and have 
not done it. Save her for Jesus’ sake.” 

As Kate looked up, the dying girl smiled ra- 
diantly, and said : “ Tell mother I wish I could 
have kissed her.” 

Then the smile faded, the breath receded, 
and Sadie Sloan lay in their midst in the calm, 
beautiful sleep of the righteous dead. 


CHAPTEK XXYL 

KATE AT SEA. 

T he grief of tbe pupils burst forth afresh, 
and in the midst of it the door opened and 
Dr. Joy stepped in. Behind him, with wild 
eyes and uncovered head, came the poor mother 
of the dead girl, just as she had risen up from her 
work and hurried away at the call. Something 
within Kate moved her to go to Mrs. Sloan and 
wind both arms kindly, and even tenderly, about 
her. She could not speak a word, but her grief- 
stricken silence was much more eloquent. The 
poor woman gazed stonily in Kate’s face, then 
threw up her hands, and cried out in the agony 
of her heart: “You needn’t say a word. Miss 
Belmont; I see it in your face; Sadie’s dead. 
Don’t hold me; please don’t hold me! Don’t 
try to hide her from me I She was all I had 
left of seven. Husband and children all gone; 
only me left. Oh! merciful God, take me, too!” 
And 'she threw herself down beside the body 
of her darling, moaning piteously and rocking 
herself to and fro. 

“Be comforted, my poor woman,” said Dr. 
Joy, laying a kind hand on the stricken mother. 
“Sadie died gloriously — as heroes die. She 
saved three lives, and she herself has entered 
into life eternal. Sadie was always a good girl, 
but she has rendered herself immortal. ‘ Blessed 
are the dead which die in the Lord.’ ” 

By this time quite a little multitude was pour- 
ing into the school -house from different quarters 
228 


Kate at Sea. 


229 


of the village, for such news travels fast, and, 
though the storm was yet somewhat violent, 
even very delicate women had braved it, and 
had come to console and comfort and help as 
best they could. Notwithstanding their utmost 
• endeavors, however, it was a long time before 
they could persuade the half-crazed mother to 
allow all that remained of poor Sadie to be re- 
moved to her home and prepared for burial. 
Meanwhile, the children who had been rescued 
from death by her brave and dauntless act were 
taken to their homes, and Dr. Joy attended care- 
fully to the injuries of the little girl who was hurt, 
which proved not to be serious ; and soon the 
school-house was left to the teachers and their 
pupils. There was no more teaching for that 
day, however ; only a brief consultation between 
the two teachers, and the school was dismissed 
until after Sadie’s funeral. Yet Kate lingered 
long after the last pupil had left the school- 
room. The storm had passed, and a glorious 
rainbow encircled the sky ; and as Kate stood 
in the open door and gazed at it with a swell- 
ing heart, a passage from the lesson which Mr. 
Knox had read at worship that morning came 
forcibly to her mind : “ I, even I, am he that 
comforteth you. Who art thou, that thou 
shouldest be afraid of a man that shall die, and 
of the son of man which shall be made as 
grass ; and forgettest the Lord thy Maker, that 
hath stretched forth the heavens, and laid the 
foundations of the earth?” 

The sun was gliding fast toward the western 
hills, but the golden glory of its beams shim- 
mered through the raindrops hanging heavy 


230 


An Hundred-Fold, 


on shrub and tree, making glittering diamonds 
of them, and shining on the innumerable little 
pools of water which surrounded the school- 
house, transforming them into little silvery 
lakes. Kate clasped her hands together pain- 
fully. They were shapely hands, fair and 
white, but they looked cruel to her as she 
thought of the little real good they had accom- 
plished. “If he had come for me instead of 
poor Sadie, he would have found me unpre- 
pared to meet him, and ashamed before him,” 
she moaned to herself. “Oh! why, why have 
I forgotten my Maker? How could I have 
hated poor Sadie so, when she was one of his 
creatures, and he loved her? Why did I put 
her off instead of trying my very best to make 
her understand? Why is it that, when she 
asked me questions about Jesus, my heart 
grew so cold, and I refused to tell her what 
she sought so eagerly to know? And now it is 
too late ; she has entered in before me, and, if 
what I read and hear is true, needs no teach- 
ing. Oh ! why did God make me with this evil 
disposition? Why could not my heart have 
been tender and true and gentle like Sadie’s ? 
There is something strange about it. I seem 
fated to be disagreeable. I cannot even make 
friends like other girls. People love Miss 
Richie ; they admire me for what they call my 
‘smartness,’ and I awe them and make them 
fear me. They are not drawn to me, and my 
heart does not go out to them. It lies like a 
senseless thing in my bosom. Is it my fault 
that I am not lovable and cannot love, or is it 
the fault of my Creator?” 


Rate at Sea. 


231 


The April afternoon waned, the sun went 
down, and Kate aroused from her dreams, and 
turned away from the door with a long, tired 
sigh. Gathering her books together, she went 
carefully about, neatly arranging everything in 
the room. When all was done, she put on her 
hat and walked — not in the direction of home, 
but across the common where the boys played 
base-ball, and down the little side street where, 
near the ill-smelling tannery, there lived, just 
this morning, poor Sadie Sloan. Upon reach- 
ing the little cottage, she found that most of 
the neighbors had gone, one woman remaining 
for company. The rooms had been hastily 
tidied up, and in the front one, between the 
two small-paned windows, lay all that remained 
of poor Sadie. The quiet, serene look which 
so often rests upon the faces of the dead was 
settled upon the plain countenance, giving it 
an uplifted look to Kate, who seemed to see 
the flitting of the soul once more as she stood 
beside the silent form and gazed, in rapt, un- 
broken thought at her whom she had so de- 
spised, and who had turned into an angel be- 
fore her very eyes. 

“I wished so much that I had a white dress 
to put on her,” sobbed the stricken mother, 
stealing up to Kate’s side. “ Sadie always loved 
white so much. But I haven’t a cent of money 
to buy her one, so we had to put on her new 
dark calico. I’m so glad I got it made. I sat 
up right late last night to do it — I don’t know 
why. She scolded me right hard for doing it ; 
but somehow I couldn’t feel satisfied not to 
have it done before I went to bed. Ah ! well, 


232 An Hundred-Fold, 

my child, it doesn’t much matter; you’ll have 
on a white dress up there ; I expect you’ve got 
it a’ready. Mrs. Knox is going to bring some 
flowers. I did so want a white one to put in 
her hand. They are going to send for Mr. Per- 
cival to preach the funeral. I’m so glad, for 
Sadie had a fancy for him. Must you go. Miss 
Belmont? I wish you could stay a spell. It’s 
lonely ; and Sadie thought so much of you. 
She learned more of you than of any teacher 
she ever had.” 

This simple talk almost broke Kate’s heart. 
What right had she to these crumbs of com- 
fort ? She turned white to the very lips as she 
pressed the hand of the poor mother, and whis- 
pered, in a broken voice, that she must go home 
for a little while ; that there was something she 
must do ; that then she would return, and stay 
until all was over. 

Once in her own room at Mrs. Knox’s, she 
took from her wardrobe a beautiful dress of 
white mull, and wrapped it in paper. Then 
she went in search of Mrs. Knox. 

“ I am going to stay with Sadie and her mo- 
ther until they take her away,” Kate explained, 
brokenly ; “ it is all that I can do.” 

Although Mrs. Knox tried to dissuade her, 
she could not prevail. Once more Kate tra- 
versed the streets, and entered the lonely house. 

“I want you to have this put on her,” she 
said to Mrs. Sloan, exhibiting the beautiful 
white dress; “and she shall have the white 
roses. I commissioned Mr. Knox to telegraph 
to the city and have them sent by express. 
Don’t thank me. If, as you say, she loved me, 


Kate at Sea. 


233 


she would not hinder me from doing this much 
for her as a return — and such a poor return.” 

So Sadie was arrayed in Kate’s own spotless 
robe of white, the lace falling over the quiet 
bosom as if it loved it ; and then Kate made the 
mourning mother lie down, while she watched 
beside the dead, in company with the other wo- 
man. It was a long and lonely vigil ; but to Kate, 
who was still far out at sea amid the wild tem- 
pest of her remorseful thoughts and feelings, it 
seemed that it would last forever, and that day 
would never dawn. At last the red and gold 
began to tint the eastern sky, but Kate was as 
far as ever from the haven of rest ; indeed, it 
seemed to her that she was rushing through 
the seething billows of her soul’s wretchedness 
straight upon the roaring breakers. 


CHAPTEB XXYIL 

MR. PERGIVADS COUNSEL. 

T O do Kate justice, we believe that she did 
everything she could, within the last few 
days, to comfort the heart of the widowed 
mother and to make up for the unkind feelings 
with which she had regarded poor Sadie. It 
was to her that the afflicted woman turned for 
advice in even the simplest matters. Should 
the floral wreath which Mrs. Knox had sent be 
placed on the head or the foot of the casket? 
Would she please put the white roses and smi- 
lax in the folded hands? What would they 
sing at the funeral? No one knew Sadie’s fa- 
vorite hymns as well as Kate did, and Mr. Per- 
cival wanted to know. 

Miss Richie called in the forenoon, and she 
and Kate made knots of black ribbon, which 
were designed to be fastened upon the sleeve of 
each one of the pupils, who were requested to 
attend the funeral in a body. 

It was a beautiful afternoon that they laid 
her away. The trees were all aglow with blos- 
soms, the grass was green and velvety ; and as 
Kate looked at them, she thought of the life 
which had not faded from among them, but 
had burst into the beauty and glory of the 
springtime of an eternal life. As she stood by 
the open grave in the serene little grave -yard, 
shadowy with weeping willows and sighing 
evergreens, and listened to the sweet solemnity 
of Mr. Percival’s voice as he committed the 
234 


Mr. PercivaVs Counsel. 


235 


body of poor Sadie to the care and keeping of 
the “Resurrection and the Life,” she wished — 
oh! how she wished! — that she was as sure of 
awaking in the likeness of the blessed Christ as 
she felt Sadie to be that day. The tormenting 
doubts, which she had tried so hard to dissipate 
by keeping busy for the last two days, seemed 
to return with redoubled fury and to chase her 
soul up and down the avenues of thought. 

Wishing to be alone, she walked homeward 
through the fields — the graveyard lying out a 
little beyond the limits of the village — and, fan- 
cying the shadow of an oak tree, she sat herself 
down in its spreading shade. The bitter tears 
rolled over her face as her mind traversed the 
past : What a drag she had been to Harold, 
what an infiuence to Ward, what an example 
to the younger children ; how she had obsti- 
nately made up her mind that her stepmother 
was of a prying and mischievous disposition, 
disposed to be cruel to the children, and the 
supplanter of them all in her father’s confi- 
dence and affection ; how she had steeled her 
heart against them, and how willing she had 
been that the whole burden and responsibility 
of caring for the family should fall upon her 
stepmother. The knowledge of the special 
effort which the struggling woman was making 
had never awakened any softer feelings in her 
heart. She had even meanly said, in the soli- 
tude of her own room, “ It is good enough for 
her.” She had felt a sort of wicked triumph in 
Ward’s departure from ’’home, and would not 
believe Harold’s glad accounts of the favorable 
change in him. Sitting thus alone, wrapped in 


236 


An Hundred-Fold. 


these sad and unsatisfying reflections, she did 
not notice the sun growing low in the west, nor 
did she hear footsteps approaching, until some 
one stopped beside her, and a gentle voice 
said: “Miss Katie, you here, and alone?” 

She looked up then, and met Mr. Percival’s 
eyes bent upon her with grave kindness. She 
turned away her head to hide her troubled, 
tear-stained face. She felt just then that she 
could not speak even to him. 

“Are you in any personal trouble that I can 
help you about?” he asked, sitting down in the 
soft grass by her side, “ or is it for poor Sadie 
that you are shedding these tears? It is very 
sad, and yet it is scarcely right to weep for her, 
I think, or to wish her back among us ? She 
has escaped the ‘evil to come,’ and has gone 
home to her Father’s house in triumph. If 
she had lived, life, with her, would have been 
a constant battle with poverty and we know 
not what. It is so much better as it is. No 
doubt you feel about her as few others can. 
You have been her teacher, and I know by ex- 
perience that we are very apt to become much 

attached to those we help in any way ; but ” 

The word escaped her involunta- 
rily. “You mistake; you don’t know what you 
are saying. I was not Sadie’s friend; I was 
not good to her. It hurts me now to think that 
I was not; but I almost hated her. Oh! you 
need not look at me in that surprised kind of a 
way ; it is true. She wore shabby old dresses, 
and her hair was cut* short in the neck, and 
she was not a bit like any of the other girls. 
Besides, she had too much influence ; she could 


Mr, FerdvaVs Counsel. 


237 


lead most of the pupils like a flock of sheep, 
and make them do whatever she had a mind to, 
whether they wanted to or not, that I couldn’t 
bear it ; and she had such a way of asking me 
such troublesome questions about religion. I 
couldn’t answer them, and it made me ashamed. 
She said that I helped her so much with her 
lessons, but I did a great deal more for the 
little German boys than I did for her; and — 
and, Mr. Percival, that was not all. I tried to 
hurt her feelings, to throw her off from me, to 
set the other girls against her, and to slight her 
in every way that I could. Mr. Percival, you 
will despise me as I despise myself, now that 
you know this, but I cannot hold it in my heart 
any longer. If only folks could sometimes live 
their lives over again ! It sometimes seems to 
me that it is not in Almighty Love to save me.” 

“Kate!” Mr. Percival’s voice was almost 
stern in its earnestness, “you are making the 
mistake of your life in doubting the power of 
that same Almighty Love. You are not right ; 
I have long seen that. You have been cherish- 
ing a very painful disorder; but the question 
is, not. Can you be healed ? but. Will you have 
the Healer? Will you let the Great Physician 
bind up your soul with the balm of Gilead? It 
is well enough for you to realize your danger- 
ous condition, but you have no right to refuse 
the medicine which the Saviour offers you. I 
know, and you know, that the blessed Christ is 
right here to attend to your every need. Is it 
not written expressly that ‘ He is able to save 
to the uttermost all that come unto God by 
him ’ ? It is only for you to come,” 


238 


An Hundred-Fold, 


Kate looked up. “There is more written 
than that,” she said, drawing her hand away 
from the strong clasp of the one that he had 
laid upon it. “ There is something about being 
reconciled to your brother before coming to 
the altar with your gift. That has been troub- 
ling me, too. I have heard my father preach 
on that, and you, too. I know what it means. 
You have been good enough not to refer to it, 
but you know of my feelings toward my father’s 
wife and her children. This, also, is in the 
way of my peace. Mr. Percival, how can I — 
how dare I — come to God and ask forgiveness 
for the sins and mistakes of a lifetime, when I 
cannot find it in my heart to forgive them for 
coming into our family? How can I expect 
him to love me, when I don’t love them, and 
don’t want to? There it is. You see I have 
spoken it out, and you know it all, and you now 
know me as you never have known me before. 
You see yourself how hopeless it is.” 

“ I do not, Katie. Tell me, has not the Spirit 
suggested to you a way in which this obstacle 
to your eternal happiness may be removed?” 

Kate looked at him again through falling 
tears, bit her lip passionately, and turned away 
her head. 

“Has he not brought to your remembrance 
the words of the prodigal son : ‘ I will arise and 
go to my father, and will say unto him. Father, 
I have sinned’?” 

“Oh! Mr. Percival, I can never do that — 
never! I cannot undergo the humiliation of 
going to them at home, and especially to her^ 
and making the confession that I have been in 


Mr. PercivaVs Counsel. 239 

the wrong. It would be an utter impossi- 
bility.” . 

“ It is never impossible to do right,” replied 
Mr. Percival, kindly, and even tenderly. ‘‘It 
may be hard ; I know from my own experience 
that it often is ; but I know also that it is pos- 
sible to do anything which Jesus Christ wants 
us to do; for ‘the Spirit helpeth our infirmi- 
ties,’ you know ; and I really do think, Katie, 
that if I were standing where you stand to-day,* 
I shouldn’t hesitate ; I should do this thing ; I 
should do it firmly, resolutely, without making 
a single compromise with my mind or heart. 
You will never have a moment’s peace until 
you do. It is your first duty, a plain act of 
restitution ; and in order to get right with your 
Father in heaven and in a position in which he 
can bestow a blessing, it seems to me that you 
will be obliged to do it.” 

“Oh! Mr. Percival, I can’t!” said Kate. 

“You can!"*' urged the young minister, with 
Christian pity and tenderness. “Let me tell 
you something about myself ; it may help you. 
Some years ago I thoughtlessly injured a gen- 
tleman’s reputation — his religious reputation — 
by repeating some idle scandal I had heard 
about him, and letting it pass that I believed 
it true. The young man’s friends fell off; his 
word was questioned; his honor was at stake; 
and he was finally brought up before the church 
for judgment. 1 knew how really false were 
the reports which had been circulated, and it 
was very easy for me to prove them so ; but I 
actually and shamefully hesitated to do it. You 
understand that I was the chief witness against 


240 


An Hundred- Fold>. 


him, and you can imagine how painful was my 
position. In order to right things, I would 
be obliged to retract everything in the presence 
of the church. While the case was pending, I 
wandered about in spiritual darkness. I lost 
my fellowship with my Father ; the Sun of 
righteousness went under a cloud; and I felt 
almost like a lost soul. But when the case 
came up in the church, I did manage to do the 
gentleman justice. I took back everything, 
proved the whole thing a fabrication, confessed 
my thoughtlessness and my irresolution, and 
begged pardon very humbly, I assure you. It 
was the most blessed thing that I ever did, too, 
for I triumphed over self. Jesus returned to 
me, and I was again happy ; but I assure you 
it Tvas a lesson that I never forgot.” 

“But it is so hard! What would people 
say?” insisted Kate. 

“That is not the point,” rejoined Mr. Per- 
cival. “You don’t want to think of ‘people.’ 
Think of your own soul; think of Jesus, and of 
how you want to be in a position to love and 
serve him. My dear Katie, you will do this — 
you certainly will. I shall go home and ask 
God to help you to do it. Are you ready to 
go? The sun is almost down.” 


CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

THE FIRST INGATHERING. 

“ nV JTY dear Kate,” said Mrs. Knox, who was 
1 V I watching for them on the front porch 
as they came slowly through the gate 
and up the brick walk, “I have just been silly 
enough to worry about you a little bit. I missed 
you entirely at the cemetery. Where did you 
and Arthur slip to? John and I waited for 
you with the carriage for some time.” 

‘‘The fields looked pleasant, and I had a 
fancy to walk through them on my way home,” 
answered Kate. “Mr. Percival had the same 
thought, I presume, for he overtook me by the 
big tree. I am sorry to have made trouble ; I 
never once thought of the carriage.” 

“Now,” said the little woman, giving Kate a 
loving pat on the hand as she came in, “if you 
want to be good to me, you won’t say ‘ trouble ’ 
another time. Everything is all right — ^just as 
right as can be. Come in, and rest a bit before 
supper. Didn’t you think that the graveyard 
looked lovely to-day? The grass was so soft 
and green, and the walks so neat and clean. 
What a beautiful place they laid poor Sadie 
away in, didn’t they? I thought that it was so 
kind in Dr. Joy and Mr. Marshall to buy that 
pretty lot for poor Mrs. Sloan. You know that 
the rest of her folks are all buried away down 
at Ducktown, ever so many miles from here. 
It is so much nicer for her to have Sadie lying 
here, where she can visit her gi’ave sometimes. 

16 341 


242 


An Hundred-Fold, 


I thought it was so nice to have the school- 
children show so much respect ; and the knots 
of ribbon .on their sleeves and the flowers they 
had in their hands to lay on the casket were 
just the very thing. I liked the song they sang 
with you at the grave, too ; it was such a sweet 
tribute. Poor, dear Sadie ! she has gone where 
she will understand at last.. Arthur, did you 
notice the little German boys’ father? He 
never once took his eyes off you during the 
service. I am so anxious for that family. Do 
you want to go to your room, Katie, and brush 
a little before supper; never mind keeping us 
waiting ; we’re in no hurry.” 

Chattering thus, more to draw away atten- 
tion from Kate’s tear-stained face than for any- 
thing else, Mrs. Knox bustled about, lighting 
the lamp, turning up the light, then turning it 
down, wheeling the chairs into different posi- 
tions, and otherwise pretending to be very busy. 
Meanwhile, Kate escaped to her room, bathed 
her face, smoothed her hair, and even changed 
her dress, that she might appear more her 
natural self. But the terrible emotions which 
had convulsed her soul could not be altogether 
hidden, and Mrs. Knox felt sure that there was 
something aside from Sadie’s sad death which 
was troubling her; so, as she poured the tea, 
passed the waffles, and pressed the cold beef 
upon Arthur for the second time, she kept up 
a rippling stream of talk which excused the si- 
lence of her guests. 

“ I have found a new family down by the old 
grist-mill, Arthur,” said she. “Have honey 
with your waffles? No? Oh! you don’t know 


The First Ingathering. 


243 


what’s good. The little German boys told me 
about them. They have moved into that old 
cabin, John, of Uncle Billy Wilkins, that hasn’t 
been lived in for years except by rats and mice. 
I don’t see how they are going to get along; 
and there are eleven of them — a regular old- 
fashioned family. We must try to get the chil- 
dren into the Sabbath-school. You must hus- 
tle around in the morning, Arthur, and call on 
them before you go home. John, you must 
send round a load of wood and some groceries 
to-morrow, and I’ll hatch up a basket of no- 
tions. They have a young baby there, and 
they ought to have a fire all the time, even in 
warm weather. If Kate and Arthur can get 
along by themselves for an hour or two, I be- 
lieve I’ll just take Hetty and run around there 
yet to-night with a basket of things. It isn’t 
far around by the covered bridge, and the poor 
things didn’t look to me as if they had any too 
much to eat.” 

“Had I not better go with you and help with 
the basket?” asked Arthur. “Judging from 
what I know of you, I should say it will be far 
too heavy for you and Hetty to manage.” 

“Indeed, you will not,” said the little lady, 
emphatically. “You’ll sit at home and try to 
make yourself agreeable to Kate here. John, 
of course, must meander off to the store as 
usual.” 

Arthur laughed, and opened the door for 
Kate to pass into the parlor, only stopping 
long enough to promise that he would certainly 
look after the spiritual needs of the family in 
question ; then he followed her into the parlor, 


244 


An Hundred-Fold. 


and, choosing a book from the many beautiful 
volumes lying on the table, seated himself in 
an easy chair, saying kindly: “You are weary, 
I know, and do not care to talk ; and, as I am 
instructed to amuse you, and as I feel that I 
am somewhat deficient in entertaining qualities 
this evening, for some reason, I will, with your 
kind permission, rely upon the minds of others 
who are greater and wiser than myself. Have 
you a choice? I see that I have picked up 
Longfellow’s poems. They are pleasant music, 
and are never amiss. They have an especially 
soothing effect upon me when I am too tired 
even to think. Are you fond of Miles Stand- 
ish f I always liked that. Shall I disturb you, 
do you think?” 

“Certainly not,” said Kate; and she leaned 
her head, weary and aching, upon the back of 
the upholstered chair, folded her hands, and 
turned her eyes away from the light. The soft, 
clear, even tones fell musically upon her ears, 
and her mind was gradually lulled to rest by 
the beautiful rhythm of the story. Mrs. Knox 
found them thus when she returned home, and 
rallied them upon their unsociability 

“You would have enough to talk about if you 
had seen what I have seen to-night,” she said; 
“ a sick woman and a half-starved little baby ; 
the other children scattering about just like 
rats and mice ; and a drunken husband and fa- 
ther, of course. A man can always find enough 
money to buy whiskey, it seems. Oh ! such dis- 
tress! Arthur, we must just set to work and 
lift them out of the mire into which they are 
sunk almost deep enough to strangle them. I 


245 


The First Ingathering. 

shall go over in the morning to see Jane Har- 
ris, and see if she won’t take one of the young- 
est girls. Pretty little creatures, too! John 
has got to start a subscription paper, and raise 
money to take them along until they get on 
their feet again. Oh 1 shiftless ? Of course 
they are; but I can’t let them starve, even if 
they are.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Mr. Percival, much in- 
terested. “Did you find out whether any of 
the family have an interest in Christ?” 

“The woman was a member of some church, 
once, she said; but, oh! she is so discouraged 
with life, poor thing, she doesn’t see any good 
in trying to be anything ! I think that a visit 
from you, Arthur, will be just what she needs. 
If anybody in the world ever stood in need of 
heavenly counsel, it is certainly she.” 

“There seems to be more wretchedness in 
the world than anything else.” The words 
broke from Kate with a miserable little sigh. 

“ There is a good deal,” replied Mrs. Knox, 
“ but I don’t know that we estimate our happi- 
ness as we should, or we shouldn’t mind it so 
much. For instance, there is that one really 
poverty-stricken home in Clinton among the 
very many comfortable ones; just one. After 
all, Katie, I am inclined to think that we all 
have ourselves to thank for what life is to us — 
good or ill, happy or wretched. But I fear that 
I have just gone and given you the dumps, my 
dear. You mustn’t mind my rattling. We will 
soon fix up these people, and you shall do your 
part in teaching the children. There will be as 
many as half-a-dozen for you and Edna,” 


246 


An Hundred-Fold, 


At this moment Mr. Knox came in from the 
store, and handed Kate a letter and a pack- 
age. 

“I found them in the office as I came along 
home,” said he. “The package is from Oak- 
land, I guess, but the letter seems to have come 
a good way. As near as I can make out, that 
is a California postmark.” 

“It is from Ward, I presume,” said Kate, 
listlessly, slipping the letter under the string of 
the package until she should go to her room 
for the night. “We have not been in the habit 
of corresponding at all, either; I always hear 
of him through Harold.” 

Even when she got to her room, she seemed 
to be in no hurry to open the letter, but laid it 
on the dresser, and unbound and brushed her 
hair as usual. 

“I suppose that he is well enough,” she said, 
seeming to answer some questioning thought. 
“I don’t see what he has to write to me about 
particularly. Some of his nonsense, altogether 
likely. If it is, I shall not have the patience 
to read it.” 

She took up a book and looked at the table 
of contents before she broke the seal. At last 
she took up the missive and carefully opened 
the end of the envelope with a pin, and, with 
an uninterested air, unfolded the two large 
sheets, written in a large, boyish hand as legi- 
ble as print. But her eyes had travelled over 
but a few lines ere her attention became fixed, 
and earnest enough. 

Let us take the liberty of reading the letter 
with her. 


247 


The First Ingathering. 

‘‘Pasadena, California, April 15, 18 — . 

^^Dear Kate : I know you will be altogether 
astonished at this from me, but the truth is, I 
have got something so sweet and good to tell 
you that it can’t possibly wait. Besides, I 
think that I ought to tell you instead of com- 
missioning Hal or somebody else to do so. It 
is just this ; your bad brother Ward has ‘ stepped 
over the line to Christ.’ Are you not glad? 
But I need not ask the question. Of course 
you are. How can you help being, when you 
profess to love him and his church ? My one 
deep regret is that I didn’t do it years ago. I 
might have been a happy boy instead of a 
miserable one; a good one instead of a reck- 
less, and almost a lost, one. 

“You see, before I left home, I — well, I don’t 
know that it does any good to rehearse these 
things — but I got down pretty low in the scale 
of morals, and something happened to me — 
something which none of our family were per- 
mitted to know about, except one, and God al- 
lowed that one to be our stepmother. Kate, I 
don’t know how to write it, but that woman 
stepped in and saved me, and without being 
asked. She always had been good to me — 
much too good — but I never had anything take 
hold of me like that act of mercy. It was so 
much the greater because she had it in her 
power to punish me instead of doing the other 
thing. I date my very first desire for a Chris- 
tian life from that act of hers. I really wanted 
and tried to do better, but it did seem as if I 
must get away from Oakland and my old asso- 
ciates ; and when the opportunity came, I em- 


248 


An Hundred-Fold. 


braced it at once. But I have found out that 
Pasadena is no stranger to evil, and even in 
Mr. Randal’s house I found some of the very 
things which had been such terrible tempta- 
tions to me at home. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what would have be- 
come of me if she had not held on to me. It 
seemed as if she was determined to save me, 
whether or no. She wrote me the loveliest and 
most loving letters, which I couldn’t have an- 
swered if I had tried — and I didn’t try — and 
those letters kept me many a time from going 
to the bad. She gave me a handsome Bible 
before I left home, too, and got me to promise 
to try to read it. I did read it a good deal, 
especially the passages she had marked, and I 
got to thinking about it, Kate — why I wasn’t a 
Christian, and all that, you know — and finally 
I just made up my mind to be one, if God 
would only help me to part with my sins ; and 
he did, and I am just as happy as I can be. 

“I want to mention one other thing that our 
stepmother did for me. She put in my trunk a 
letter directed to Mr. Austin McVay, a promi- 
nent lawyer in Pasadena, and an old friend of 
hers; and I was to go to him with it and get 
acquainted. I didn’t go for a long time, but 
when I did, I tell you, it paid me. Through 
his infiuence I have begun going to church 
regularly and to Sabbath-school, too, and have 
joined the Young People’s Society. I am 
wonderfully interested in the Christian- culture 
course, and am trying to be an ‘ all-round ’ good 
boy. More than that, Mr. McYay found out 
that papa designed me for the law, and he has 


249 


The First Ingathering, 

lent me law-books, and I am reading under bis 
direction. I would like to fulfil papa’s wishes 
now. It grieves me so that I was so obstinate, 
and now he is so sick, and I am so far away. 

“And now, just one word more. IJ am going 
to turn over a new leaf as regards our father’s 
wife, and call her ‘ mother.’ I never expected 
to be willing to do it, but becoming a son of 
God makes all the difference in the world. I 
wish, Kate, that you would let all your roots of 
bitterness be destroyed, too, and would agree, 
with me, to cancel all the past. Let’s make all 
the restitution that we can, and be just the best 
kind of Christians — the Bible kind. 

“Hoping to hear from you soon, I am, as 
ever, your brother. Ward Belmont.” 

Kate laid down the letter, took up the little 
package, and snapped the string. Leisurely 
tearing off the wrappings which enfolded it, a 
little box came to light — a dainty affair made 
of celluloid, lined with blue satin, and tied with 
azure ribbons. Within the satin bed lay, side 
by side a row of soft, shining, golden curls. A 
slip of paper explained it all. 

“Brownie is going to school now, so we have 
put him in trousers and shorn his curls; but 
mamma says, as ho is especially Kate’s baby, 
she must have them. Are they not lovely ? 

“Nellie.” 

That was all; no other words; but at sight 
of them and of the curls Kate burst into tears. 


CHAPTEE XXIX. 

BROWNIE^ S SECRET. 

M eanwhile, Dr.’ Belmont stlll lay in 
the remorseless grasp of paralysis, get- 
ting , no better, seemingly getting no 
worse ; showing no change, except that the 
light of the Spirit grew brighter as the refining 
infiuences of suffering worked their will. The 
Young People’s Society proved a never-ending 
source of comfort to him, and many a sermon 
did the servant of Christ preach lying there 
among his pillows ; and Mrs. Belmont fell into 
the habit of sitting by his bedside and taking 
down the thoughts as they fell from his lips, 
and sending them to the daily papers, through 
whose agency they reached the public. These 
extracts were paid for, and the proceeds were 
devoted, by the author’s earnest request, to the 
society’s relief committee, for distribution among 
the poor, of which Oakland had a goodly share. 

Everything had gone on much the same as 
usual in the home of the Belmonts. Mrs. Bel- 
mont herself worked hard to keep up with ex- 
penses, sometimes toiling far into the night ; 
but with the best that she and Harold could 
do, they could not lay by much for a rainy day. 
Kate had been as good as her word, and every 
month had sent sufficient to pay Betty Ann, 
the hired girl. Ward had sent, from time to 
time, glowing accounts of his future prospects ; 
but at present board and clothes, etc., swal- 
lowed up the major part of his earnings — at 
250 


Brownies Secret 


251 


least, they had done so until very lately. Since 
the letter had come announcing the blessed 
news of his decision for Christ, there had been 
some small remittances of two or three, and 
once even of five, dollars. This, to Mrs. Bel- 
mont, who really knew the boy better than any 
one else did, was a precious promise of good 
things to come, and helped to lighten the bur- 
dens which she lifted with difficulty and car- 
ried wearily every day. 

Her habitual cheerfulness, however, never 
departed for one moment ; she went about her 
work singing just as usual, and she never en- 
tered the sick-room with anything but a smile 
upon her lips. It had now been some time 
since Nellie had been obliged to fold her help- 
ful hands and to make a constant friend of the 
sitting-room lounge, for Nellie was now wear- 
ing away very fast to ‘‘the land of the leal.” 
Her cough increased every day, and the short- 
ened breath and sharp, knife-like pains cutting 
through her lungs spoke only too plainly of the 
rapid work of the destroyer. 

To the neighbors Mrs. Belmont was a con- 
tinual wonder. Although so heavily burdened 
with work and with the two sick ones to care 
for, she never neglected the children. Mamie 
was manifesting a decided talent for music, and 
her stepmother found time, being herself an 
accomplished pianist, to give her lessons. She 
also kept up Clyde’s elocution, and she took 
care to teach Brownie to read and write. The 
little fellow would follow her about for an hour 
at a time with his book, asking questions, for 
he was not satisfied to read and not under- 


252 


An Hundred- Fold. 


stand ; and in his eager, innocent mind she em- 
braced the opportunity to plant those seeds of 
heavenly wisdom which were destined, in time 
to come, to bring forth fruit an hundred-fold. 
He was now more than six years old, and had 
thrown aside his baby ways with his kilts, and 
had taken on an air of manliness with the put- 
ting on of his knee-pants and blouse-waists. 
His curls, as we have seen, had, with very great 
regret, been cut off and laid in the satin-lined 
box which Kate had opened with a burst of 
tears — a silent and sweet reminder of the baby 
brother of whom she had, in her way, made an 
idol. 

Brownie had a great ambition in his secret 
soul. It was to fulfil the high aims, the noble 
desires, which his stepmother had implanted in 
his heart ; to be the something glorious in edu- 
cation, in the power of goodness, in the influ- 
ence of daily life, which she had taught him 
that he could become. To grow up to be some 
comfort and some solace for what his baby eyes 
had seen her suffer, and his baby mind had only 
very partially understood, was his sweet thought 
day by day. Very childish and undefined these 
ideas were, of course, but they were there, and 
the child lived them out in his school-life. He 
had seen the ill-favored glances cast at his 
dearly -loved stepmother, had heard many un- 
kind remarks thrown out by the Ransoms, and 
his affectionate little heart rose in honest re- 
bellion at the injustice and untruth of it all. 
He had never confided these thoughts to any 
one, not even to Mamie ; and they were all the 
greater and stronger for being kept within the 


Broxonie's Secret. 


253 


confines of his own heart; but he had a half- 
formed wish, which speedily developed into a 
giant resolution, to stand by his stepmother, 
and to bring her enemies, some sweet day, to 
be at peace with her. 

With all this burniog in his heart, Brownie 
started to school ; with this in view, his lessons 
were attacked with the air of a conqueror, his 
recitations given perfectly, every command 
punctiliously obeyed ; and, with a thrill of hon- 
est satisfaction, he soon saw his name placed 
on the roll of honor, while he was spoken of as 
the “star boy” of his grade. 

Was it easy doing all this? Not a bit of it. 
It was like swimming against the current of a 
rapid river, for the great majority of the boys 
at school were free to think and free to live as 
they pleased, so far as their parents and guard- 
ians were concerned. They were addicted to 
small vices of all sorts, chief among which was 
a tampering with the truth. Most of them had 
little or no regard for their word ; and our little 
boy stood aghast at the cunning ways\in which 
they deceived and got the better^ of teachers 
and parents, in order to obtain their own way. 

Against cigarette-smoking, playing cards or 
any game for money, and tasting liquor in any 
form, Mrs. Belmont had faithfully warned all 
the children. She had made these warnings 
much more impressive by telling them some 
very thrilling stories of events which had come 
under her own observation, and they had sunk 
very deeply into Brownie’s mind — so deeply 
that often, on his way to school, he would point 
to some little cigarette- smoker and say impress- 


254 


An Hundred- Fold. 


ively to his companions : “ There’s a boy that 
will never amount to much ; he smokes.” Or he 
would frown at a saloon in passing, and shake 
his head solemnly as he pronounced against it 
thus: “I’d rather die than make money as that 
man does.” 

One bright morning the boys of his grade 
were standing about in the pleasant school- 
yard taking our boy to task because he had 
refused to play marbles for “keeps.” His in- 
trinsic goodness was laughed at in a manner 
surprisingly cruel for such small boys, though 
many of them were far in advance of Brownie 
in years; and certain sneering allusions to his 
“mother’s apron-strings” were made. Poor 
Brownie’s eyes filled rapidly, but he stood his 
ground bravely-; indeed, he had never thought 
of giving way for a moment; but their cruel 
thrusts sorely wounded him, poor little war- 
rior ! 

“Why don’t you be man enough to do as 
you please?” asked Tommy Kansom. This 
boy was one of the sons of Mrs. Hansom on 
-Bose street. “Your stepmother ain’t no kin to 
jou. She ain’t your mother. She’s just your 
pa’s wife. I wouldn’t have her bossin’ me 
around, if I was you. Mother says she pities 
you. She says, when Kate took care of you, 
you used to be lively and full of fun, but now 
you have to walk the chalk, and you dassen’t 
say your soul’s your own. I’d kick about it, if 
1 was you. There’s no use in a kid standin’ all 
that. Don’t you want some candy ? I cheated 
mother this morning. I told her I had to have 
a dime for paper and pencil to take to school, 


Brownies Secret. 


255 


and I didn’t; I wanted it for candy. That’s 
the way I bamboozle her. Have some ? ” 

‘‘No,” said Brownie, firmly, drawing back, 
with a shocked look on his innocent face. 

“ What’s the reason ? ” demanded young Ban- 
som. “ Don’t you like candy ? ” 

“Not that kind,” said Brownie, putting his 
small, dimpled hands behind him out of harm’s 
way, for he dearly loved sweets of all kinds, 
and nothing could be more tempting to him 
than the morsel that Tommy held forth. 

“What’s the matter with it?” asked the boy, 
with a frown, gazing in surprise at the little 
fellow. “Here is a winedrop; take that; it’ll 
’most melt in your mouth. You’ll be cryin’ for 
more before you get that half ate.” 

“I wouldn’t touch that for anything in the 
world!” exclaimed the little boy, moving fur- 
ther away from his tempter. “Mamma says 
she knew a boy — and his name was Tommy, 
too — and he got to liking to drink whiskey just 
from eating brandy-drops and winedrops and 
such candies; and he got drunk before he got 
of age ; and that’s true ! My mother knew him 
her very own self.” 

“Your mother!'' sneered Tommy, putting 
the discarded winedrop in his mouth, “she 
ain’t no great shakes. Besides, she ain’t your 
mother, no more than I be. I told you that 
before.” 

“She h my mother,” replied Brownie, his 
eyes overflowing, “and I love her! She don’t 
make me ‘walk chalk,’ or anything of the kind. 
Your mother is not her friend. She says wrong 
things about her — things that are not true. If 


256 An Hundred-Fold. 

I had a good chance, I should like to tell her 
so.” 

‘‘You would!” shouted Tommy, looking at 
Brownie with a kind of comical admiration ; “ if 
that’s what you want. I’ll give you a chance.” 

True to his word, on the following Saturday, 
as Brownie was on his way home from up the 
street, having been on an errand for his mother, 
Tommy came running out with a request from 
Mrs. Ransom that he would step in a minute. 

“ She didn’t tell me to call you,” said he, as 
soon as his guest was fairly in the house, “but 
I was bound to see whether you had the grit 
to stand up to her as you said you would. 
Mother ! ” calling loudly in the direction of the 
kitchen, “ come in here ; Brownie Belmont is 
here, and wants to see you.” 

Mrs. Ransom came in all floury from making 
pies. 

“Bless his heart!” said she, for she had al- 
ways dearly loved the little fellow. “ You are 
the greatest stranger. Brownie. I am just as 
glad to see you as I can be. Will you give me 
a kiss?” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Brownie, readily holding 
up his red lips. 

“Come into the room and sit down, son,” 
said Mrs. Ransom. “How is Kate? When 
did you hear from her? I expect you miss her 
awfully, don’t you?” 

“Very much,” said Brownie. 

“And you’d rather have her take care of you 
than your new mamma, would you not?” asked 
Mrs. Ransom. 

Brownie’s cheeks were very pink, but his 


Brownies Secret, 


257 


voice was soft and low. “ I would like to have 
them both,” he answered. “I am very fond of 
them ; and — and I don’t think you understand 
my mamma, Mrs. Kansom. She is a lovely 
lady, and never in the world does things to 
hurt us, as you say she does ; and she teaches 
us good things about going to heaven when we 
die. If you would come to see her and get ac- 
quainted, you would love her, because you just 
couldn’t help it, she’s always so smiley and 
nice ; and — and she thinks that you're nice. I 
heard her say one day that she thought you 
were a very fine-looking lady.” 

“She did!” exclaimed Mrs. Hansom, with a 
constrained air. “I am sure I am very much 
obliged to her. What was it. dear, that you 
wanted to see me about ? ” 

“Why, just that^' said Brownie, with down- 
cast eyes. “ I wanted to beg you please not to 
say any more ugly things about my mamma, 
because they are not a mite true, and she’s 
good, and so are Nellie and Clyde ; and Nellie’s 
going to heaven before long, and we shan’t see 
her any more, and w^e love her so much ; and — 
and — oh! I do so want you to be her friend, 
Mrs. Kansom.” And the little fellow took out 
his handkerchief and wiped his streaming eyes. 

“Now, don’t cry,” said Mrs. Ransom, much 
troubled. “ I’ve been making lemon custards ; 
wouldn’t you like to take one to your mamma?” 

“Oh! so much, thank you!” replied the boy, 
eagerly, through the glistening tear-drops. “ She 
is very much obliged to you — that is, I know 
she will be. ' She loves lemon custards.” 

Mrs. Ransom wrapped up the pie in a daintv 
17 


258 


A?i Hundred-Fold, 


linen napkin, saying. “There; you can bring 
back the plate another day, and make me an- 
other visit. I shall love to see you any time.” 

With a second kiss, Brownie took the pie, 
and started off with a triumphant air, and Mrs. 
Kansom stood in the door watching him, with 
a new, warm feeling in her heart, and a dim 
consciousness that perhaps she had misjudged 
Mrs. Belmont; while Tommy, much delighted, 
turned a somersault in the hall behind her 
back. 


CHAPTEE XXX. 


BROWNIE^ 8 SECRET— CONTINUED. 

B EOWNIE went softly in at the back door, 
and set the pie on the kitchen table. It 
was a lovely pie, beautifully scalloped all 
around the edges, and with a most beautiful 
meringue all over the top. 

“It’s a present for mamma, Betty Ann,” said 
he, proudly, “from Mrs. Eansom. Tommy 
called me in as I was coming by and she gave 
me this. Isn’t it a fine one ? ” 

Betty Ann looked at it in a careless, off-hand 
manner, then tossed her head scornfully. 

“It’s no finer than other folkses’ pies, as I 
see,” said she. “If I was your ma, I’d be 
scared about eating Miss Eansom’s pies ; there 
might be p’ison in ’em.” 

Brownie’s eyes turned upon her reproach- 
fully. 

“Why, Betty Ann,” said he, “Mrs. Eansom 
wouldn’t do anything to hurt mamma for any- 
thing.” 

“I don’t know that,” said Betty Ann, purs- 
ing up her lips in a very knowing way. 

“Well, I don’t believe she would,” said the 
wee man, stoutly, with a very wise look. “Mrs. 
Eansom isn’t such a bad woman, Betty Ann; 
she’s just kind of queer. She was real glad to 
see me to-day, and asked me would I give her 
a kiss ; and I was real glad to do it, too, be- 
cause, you know, she is a great friend of Kate’s. 
259 


260 


An Hundred-Fold, 


I don’t think you ought to make up your mind 
so quick about people, Betty Ann.” 

“I know what I knows,” replied Betty Ann, 
with another toss of her head, and a very hard 
thump of the iron \^;ith which she was smooth- 
ing Clyde’s Sunday shirt. “If folks says I’m 
blind, they hain’t got no eyes themselves, that’s 
all; and I don’t have to be told by nobody 
livin’ that Kate’s friends ain’t your ma’s friends, 
and ain’t like to be. There!” 

“I think, Betty Ann,” said Brownie, “that if 
Kate’s friends just knew my mother, they would 
love her just as well as they do Kate. You ve 
got to know folks to like them, don’t you know? 
I didn’t like her myself till I knew her, did I?” 

To his great astonishment and disgust, Betty 
Ann threw back her head and laughed — actu- 
ally laughed aloud. 

The boy drew himself up with considerable 
dignity. 

“Anyway, Betty Ann,” said he, “you may 
leave the pie on the. table, if you please, for 
mamma to see when she comes in. I am to 
carry back the plate and napkin, and I shall ask 
mamma if I may take Mrs. Eansom a cluster of 
our new geraniums. I saw Miss Bush sitting 
at the sewing-machine in the back room, and I 
bowed to her, and she bowed back and smiled, 
kind of. She’s one of Kate’s friends, too; but 
I guess she’d like to be ours, if she was asked. 
Of course, Betty Ann, you needn’t think that 
anybody’d want to be a friend if they wasn’t 
wanted to.” 

With which parting thrust, the small man 
left the kitchen in search of his mother. 


Brownies Secret. — Contwued. 261 

Betty Ann laughed again, and wiped her 
eyes. 

‘‘ Tain’t none of my business, of course,” she 
said to herself, “but if I was Miss Belmont, I 
wouldn’t want no Eansoms nor Bushes a hangin’ 
round me, after all they’ve said and done to 
haul her over the coals. I’d like to know what 
that young one has got into his head. Some- 
thin’ or ’nother, you may be sure. I reckon 
they’ve been snoopin’ round him to find out a 
lot, so they can go and tattle all over creation. 
I hope to goodness they ain’t goin’ to make no 
more trouble for Miss Belmont. It’s my opin- 
ion she’s had more’n her share a’ready.” And 
Betty Ann shook out one of Mamie’s calico 
dresses and arranged it upon the ironing-board 
with considerable energy. 

Brownie, meanwhile, went into [the sewing- 
room with the news. 

“It’s a beautiful pie, mamma,” said he, “and 
Mrs. Hansom was very kind. I think that she 
would have liked to send her love with it — I 
think she would ; she looked like it — if she had 
known, you see, that you would be glad of it. 
Would you have been glad of it, mamma?” 

“Certainly, my dear. Why should I not?” 
asked his mother, lifting one of his dimpled 
hands to her lips. 

“Because,” said Brownie, reluctantly, “you 
know she has said ugly, untrue things about 
you, and — but I don’t think she has understood 
you, mamma, or she would not; and — and I 
told her you thought her a very fine-looking 
lady, mamma, and she smiled and said she was 
much obliged to you, and then she gave me the 


262 


An Hundred-Fold, 


pie right away ; and I know she was very much 
pleased, for her eyes shone just like yours 
when you almost cry.” 

Mamma stopped her sewing once more, and, 
taking the boy’s sweet face between her hands, 
kissed it lovingly. 

“My darling is a little peacemaker,” she said. 

“May I take her a bunch of our new gera- 
niums, mamma, when I take back the plate and 
napkin?” he asked. “I looked all around the 
room, and I never saw a single plant.” 

“ Instead of a bunch, you may take a little 
pot of them, dearest,” answered Mrs. Belmont. 
“ May he not, Nellie ? ” 

“Of course he may,” said Nellie, from among 
her pillows. “Poor Mrs. Ransom! I have been 
told that she works so hard, and that her boys 
are such a trial to her. I wish Lucy could be 
induced to be friendly with me.” 

“ Oh I yes ; and may I — would you care, 
mamma, if I asked her to come to our Young 
People’s Society and bring the boys? It seems 
as if it might be a good thing,” said Brownie. 

“I should be delighted to have her come, 
and so would papa. Tell her so, my son And 
now let us go and see that wonderful pie,” said 
Mrs. Belmont. 

“You may tell Mrs. Ransom for me. Brownie, 
dear,” said she, as she slipped the pie upon 
another plate, “that she has given me a great 
treat. This is the first lemon pie that I have 
seen this spring, and I am very fond of it ; in 
fact, a lemon pie is my favorite dainty. And, 
darling, you may give Mrs. Ransom my 

“ Oh 1 thank you, thank you, dear mamma 1 ” 


Brownies Secret. — Continued. 263 

said the delighted little boy, as she put the pie- 
plate and napkin in a basket, and wrapped a 
paper around the pot of geranium. Then he 
marched off upon his errand, in high spirits. 

He trudged along the street with a light and 
merry heart. His secret was working out most 
beautifully. He smiled pleasantly to himself, 
and repeated one of his Sunday verses; in- 
deed, that very verse was the beginning of 
his secret: “When a man’s ways please the 
Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at 
peace with him.” His mother’s ways did please 
the Lord — he was quite sure of that — and her 
enemies must come to be at peace with her. 
She had called him “a peacemaker.” What a 
blessed, happy thing if he might be the instru- 
ment in God’s hand for healing all the dread- 
ful past. This, in simple, childish fashion, ran 
swiftly through the boy’s mind. Dear child! 
he did not know how even his unconscious 
little shining curls had spoken loudly in behalf 
of peace. 

Up the stone steps went little Brownie, and 
ting-a-ling-ling went the hall-bell. Mrs. Kan- 
som was getting supper, so she sent Tommy to 
open the door. At sight of the small visitor, 
he turned round and shouted to his mother: 
“ Ma, it’s Brownie Belmont come back with the 
plate and napkin, and something wrapped up 
in a paper ; looks like a flower. Come right in 
here and see.’’ 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed that lady, hurry- 
ing in, followed by Lucy and Miss Bush. 
“Back already? You needn’t have minded to 
return them so soon, sonny. Here, Tom, take 


264 


An Hundred-Fold, 


this pie-plate and napkin in the dining-room. 
What do yon say, child? This beautiful, rare 
geranium for me? Lucy has been trying for 
ever so long to get a slip of that, but we could 
not find one anywhere. Where did you get it, 
deary?” 

“ One of mamma’s friends in Dayton sent it 
to her, and this one Nellie started herself,” 
said Brownie. 

“You don’t say that your ma sent it to me?” 
inquired Mrs. Ransom. 

“Yes’m,” said Brownie, who had pulled off 
his cap and tucked it under his arm when he 
first came in; “and she sent thanks for the pie, 
and liked it best of all things ; and, Mrs. Ran- 
som, she sent her love.^' 

Mrs. Ransom’s face had a queer look, and 
Sarah Bush might have been seen to smile 
grimly, but Lucy went into ecstacies over the 
pretty plant. 

“ It’s the loveliest thing I ever saw,” said she. 
“You always have such lovely plants ; your bay- 
window is full of them ; and we haven’t one.” 

“Come over and get some,” said Brownie, 
generously. “I know mamma and Nellie will 
be glad to give you all you want.” 

“That’s too good to last,” said Miss Sarah, 
gruffly; but she put her nose to the flower, 
nevertheless, and laid a needle-pricked finger 
on the velvety petals. 

“You must tell your ‘folks that I am much 
obliged for their kindness,” said Mrs. Ransom. 

“Yes’m,” said Brownie. 

“Your father doesn’t get any better, I 
reckon ? ” said Miss Bush. 


Brownies Secret. — Continued. 265 

“ No’m,” responded Brownie, 

‘‘’Tisn’t likely he gets any too much care, 
with her sewing to support the family. She 
gets more than she can do, doesn’t she?” in- 
quired Miss Bush. 

“She is very busy, and she works some 
nights,” replied Brownie. 

“And her girl is dying with consumption, I 
understand,” continued Miss Bush. 

Brownie nodded, while his lips quivered. 

Then he stood up very straight, and spoke 
out bravely: “Won’t you all please come to 
our Young People’s Society, and bring the 
boys ? It is every Sunday afternoon at three 
o’clock, in papa’s room. He would like you 
to come so much.” 

“Um!” replied Miss Sarah, “I don’t know 
about that. There’s a heap of endeavoring in 
the world, in my opinion, and mighty little 
done. But I don’t suppose it would kill us; 
and I would kind of like to see the old pastor. 
I haven’t seen him since he was first taken.” 

“If Aunt Sarah comes, mother and I will, 
Brownie,” said Lucy, giving the child a kiss. 
“ Must you go so soon ? Why not stay a while ? ” 

“No’m, I have to go,” said the little boy. 

“Well, see here,” said Miss Sarah, as the boy 
stepped out of the open door, “I don’t know 
that I’d mind stepping round and giving your 
stepmother a lift with her sewing. I haven’t 
much on my hands now, and I feel lost without 
I’m using a needle or a machine. You tell 
her, and let me know. Tommy, you run along 
home with him. He’s a little fellow, and might 
be afraid by himself.” 


266 


An Hundred- Fold. 


But Brownie was not at all afraid. He went 
flying home, Lis heart singing all the way this 
one sweet strain : “ Blessed are the peacemak- 
ers: for they shall be called the children of 
God.” 


CHAPTEK XXXL 

UNCLE RICHARD BARNES. 

I T was a lovely day in early May. The sun- 
shine fell in floods of golden glory on hill- 
tops and valleys ; the breath of the spring 
flowers floated in at the open window, and the 
glad song of the. birds called off Mrs. Belmont 
from her cutting-table to sympathize for a little 
while with all the beautiful new life in the out- 
side world. How glorious it all was! How 
she longed to take a drive away from the busy 
little city, out into the sweet, quiet country, 
where nature reigned in sweet serenity. A bit 
of a sigh struggled up from the depths of her 
heart as she gazed. Nellie’s cough smote upon 
her ear painfully. How constant it was grow- 
ing! How thin the pale face became as the 
days went by! The sigh which had struggled 
out of her overcharged heart burst from her 
lips as she turned away from the window ; but 
almost immediately her voice rose with the 
hymn: 

“All, yes, all, I give to Jesus; 

It belongs to him; 

All my love I give to Jesus; 

It belongs to him; 

Loving him for love unceasing, 

For his mercy e’er increasing. 

For his watch-care never ceasing ; 

It belongs to him.” 

“Mamma,” said Nellie, from her couch, “I 
am so glad you feel that way. I know that it 
comes from your heart, and that you feel that 
I, your own dear little daughter, belong to 
367 


268 


An Hundred-Fold, 


Jesus. You know, and I know, dear mamma, 
that I shall not be able to stay with you much 
longer. I am nearing the end of my journey 
very fast now. I can see that the doctor is not 
able — indeed, he does not pretend to be — to 
lengthen out my life. But you know how tired 
I am, and how glad I am to go.” 

Her mother came over to the lounge, and, 
kneeling down beside the frail form, gathered 
it in her arms. 

“My dear, my afflicted child,” she murmured, 
in a broken voice, “you have had a suffering 
life, and mother is glad you are going home. 
Jesus always knows best. Lonely as I shall be 
without you, desolate as the house will seem, I 
am truly glad to have you go. How could I 
be otherwise when I know what I do of the 
joys he has prepared for those who love him? 
Yes, my dear, I believe that I can say from my 
heart, ‘All, yes, all, I give to Jesus.’ ” 

“You have had so much to try you, mamma,” 
said Nellie, resting her thin hand on her mo- 
ther’s bowed head; “such crushing sorrows; 
and there is little else ahead of you, papa be- 
ing so hopelessly sick, and all ; and yet you do 
not break under it. You even seem to grow 
stronger and more soulful. I know that, when 
I am gone, you will still think of me, not as 
dead and buried, but as living and happy in 
my home beyond the stars. You will still go 
on doing your duty and trusting God just the 
same. Oh ! I hope, mamma, that Jesus will let 
me help you in some sweet, mysterious way. 
It may be that I shall be with you just as much 
as I am now,” 


Uncle Richard Barnes. 


269 


^ ‘‘God grant it, darling,” said the mother, 
rising from her knees. “ But you are talking 
too much, and irritating those lungs. There is 
Harold coming from the store, too. I must go 
and see what he wants.” 

Harold held up a letter as he stepped into 
the hall, and, in a kind of glad excitement, 
threw his arm around her and gave her a kiss. 

“Can my father bear some good news?” he 
asked, under his breath. “ I have a letter from 
Uncle Kichard.” 

“And who is Uncle Richard?” inquired Mrs. 
Belmont. “I do not remember to have heard 
of such a gentleman.” 

“ He is not our real uncle,” replied Harold, 
taking off his hat and hanging it up carefully 
in the hall; “he is simply a kind of an adopted 
brother of my mother’s. My grandfather took 
him when he was a little fellow and reared him, 
and, when he was still comparatively a young 
man, he went to Australia. He was ever so 
much older than my mother. We used to hear 
from him, while grandpa lived, once in a while, 
but for years now he has been as silent as the 
grave. He is very eccentric. He has come 
back to the United States, now, possessed of 
quite a fortune, is a bachelor still, and has set- 
tled in Chicago. Do you think it will be safe 
to read the letter to father? There is some- 
thing in it I would like to talk to him about, if 
I can.” 

“ If it is good news, I cannot see that it will 
hurt him,” said Mrs. Belmont. “On the con- 
trary, it may do him good. I have been trying 
to let some of the beautiful spring sunshine 


270 


An Hundred-Fold, 


into his room, and I think that he has enjoyed 
it immensely. The birds, too, have been com- 
ing and perching upon his window-sill, to his 
great amusement, just as if they had news for 
him. Perhaps they were trying to unfold the 
contents of your letter.” 

Harold laughed lightly as he followed his 
stepmother into the sick-room. It was a very 
pretty room. Mrs. Belmont had taken special 
pains to beautify it ; to bring into it everything 
which could interest and entertain a sick per- 
son. The patient looked up and smiled as 
Harold came in. 

“Ah! Harry, said he, “it is an unheard-of 
treat to see you at this time of the day. What 
good thing brings you home just now. Your 
face is as sunny as all out-of-doors.” 

“It is a glorious day,” said Harold, drawing 
his chair up close to the bed and clasping his 
father’s hand ; “the air is full of new life. I 
feel full to the brim with energy. I have a 
letter, father, from an old friend.” 

“Indeed! Will you — are you intending to 
read it to me?” inquired the sick man, with a 
pleased smile. 

“Mother thought that I might,” said Harold, 
carefully. “It is from one whom we have not 
heard from for years — Uncle Kichard, father.” 

“Uncle Kichard!” exclaimed Dr. Belmont, 
in surprise. “I never expected to hear from 
him again. It must be as much as eight or ten 
years since we have heard anything from him. 
Bead it, by all means, Harry.” 

Thus encouraged, Harold opened and read 
the following: 


Uncle Richard Barnes. 


271 


“ 602 Michigan Aventje, Chicago, III., May 2 , 18 — . 

“Dear Nephew Harold: You’ll doubtless 
be immensely surprised to hear from the old 
wanderer, Uncle Kichard Barnes, again; but 
it’s the truth that ‘ a bad penny will return,’ in 
my case, at least. I haven’t seen a sick day 
since I left you. I venture I’m a good deal 
like old ‘Joe Bagstock,’ ‘rough and tough,’ and 
don’t wear out easy. I came home from Aus- 
tralia about two or three months ago, and have 
taken a house in Chicago, and have settled 
down to try to live the rest of my days in some 
kind of peace and comfort. I suppose you will 
think it strange that I don’t come and see you; 
but, to tell the truth, I can’t do it. I heard of 
your mother’s death and your father’s affliction 
from Martha’s folks, where I stopped a day or 
two, and I couldn’t bear to come back to Oak- 
land under the circumstances. I, never go to 
see sick folks. I’d about as lief see a ghost. 

“ I’ve got some money, and I came here be- 
cause I thought it was a good place to , invest 
it. I made it all by hard work in Australia. 
I’m in for enjoying the remnant of my life, 
now, and have . bought a gimcrack sort of a 
house, and filled it up with everything except 
somebody to keep me company. Now I’m 
coming to the point. 

“You remember, when you were a little 
fellow — or maybe you don’t — you used to 
talk about being a minister? Well, I always 
thought, if you were going to make half as 
good a one as your father, you ought to have 
a chance. Now, I’d like to know if you are of 
the same mind still; and if you are, come on, 


An Hundred- JFold, 


272 

and I’ll give you the best kind of an education, 
scot-free, just for your company about the 
house. I am not in the habit of throwing my 
money away, and I don’t like anybody dictat- 
ing to me how to spend it ; but I take a notion 
to do this for your mother’s son, and I’m not 
the one to go back on my word. 

“Let me know your sentiments as soon as 
possible; and if you consent to the arrange- 
ments, I’ll send a check for the expenses of 
your journey. Clothes, books, and expectations 
are all thrown in wdth the education, of course. 
My regards to your esteemed father and the 
rest. Let me hear from you by return mail. 

“ The same old stick, Eichard Barnes.” 

“A characteristic letter, surely,” said the 
Doctor, from among his pillows, “and an ex- 
ceedingly generous one. Poor old Dick! It 
was always a wonder for him to give anything 
away. He must have taken more notice of 
you, Harry, than any one ever knew. To think 
that he has, in a sense, been carrying you round 
in his heart all these years! ‘Expectations,’ 
too ! It would be funny if the queer old fellow 
should take a notion to make you his heir, 
wouldn’t it?” 

“ It’s a splendid chance for me to carry out 
my dreams,” said Harold, with a little sigh; 
“but, of course, it is not to be thought of for 
one moment. I just wanted you to know how 
pleasant it is for Uncle Dick to remember me 
so kindly. If I was situated so that I could 
take advantage of it, nothing could be more 
complete. Everything furnished ; I would not 


Uncle Richard Barnes. 


273 


have even to think about finances, but could 
sail ahead on a smooth sea. Ah, well! it’s all 
right, isn’t it, little mother?” 

Mrs. Belmont did not answer. She was pon- 
dering deeply over something. But the father 
spoke up tremulously : “ Oh I my son, if we 
could only arrange some way to do without 
you! It seems to be the hand of the Lord; 
but we must wait for the open door. He will 
show us one if he wants us to enter into this 
arrangement.” 

“It isn’t best to think of it at all,” said Har- 
old, brightly. “I could not and would not 
leave you, of course. You need my labor. I 
can probably serve God as well in the store as 
in the pulpit. But it is very kind of Uncle 
Richard — very . ” 

Mrs. Belmont still sat wrapped in thought. 
Nellie had a little money of her own, a bit of 
an inheritance from her father; just a few hun- 
dred dollars, it is true; but it would help mate- 
rially in tiding them over a crisis, if such a thing 
should ensue. Nellie would never need it now; 
indeed, she had urged her mother again and 
again to make use of it ; but Mrs. Belmont had 
always refused, meaning never to touch it ex- 
cept in case of absolute necessity. There was 
a little struggle in her heart, but she spoke up 
bravely : “ I think we must make it possible for 
you to go, Harry. I have a little sum in re- 
serve to lean on ; my trade is yielding good re- 
turns, especially since Miss Sarah Bush has 
lent us a hand now and then ; we can econo- 
mize somewhat more ; and I feel as if we shall 
be able to manage it. Don’t look as if you 
18 


274 


An Hundred-Fold. 


were being accused of robbery ! I will consider 
the money invested in living expenses as loaned 
to you, if you will. But you must go ; so an- 
swer Uncle Bichard at once, and say ‘yes.’ ” 

Of course the father and Harold both expos- 
tulated, reasoned, and even refused to accept 
what they knew must prove a sacrifice. But 
Mrs. Belmont remained firm, and set before 
them the grave necessity for Harold’s making 
use of his gifts; reminded them that he had 
long felt that the Lord was calling him to the 
work, and that she believed this to be the “ open 
door” of opportunity; that to obtain a good 
education was to be fitted for one’s life-work ; 
and that, this once obtained, he would be in a 
position to help them far more than at present. 

Thus urged, they finally yielded, not without 
many expressions of regret, some indignant 
protests, and even some grateful, heart-felt 
tears. 


CHAPTEK XXXIL 


WAUD COMES TO THE FRONT. 

O NCE decided upon going to Chicago, pre- 
parations for Harold’s departure went on 
speedily. Mr. Belmont was as happy as 
a child over the future prospects of his eldest 
son, and gave him many words of counsel in 
regard to his course of study and his prepara- 
tion for the ministry. 

“I want you to speak for Jesus at every 
opportunity. There is so much good you can 
do in a city like Chicago, my son. Above 
all things, don’t neglect the word. That is 
one of the temptations of the present age. 
Make that your study beyond any other text- 
book. Eill your heart full of it. It will not 
only keep you in the hour of temptation, 
but it will be like a lamp shining from within 
and leading those with whom you commu- 
nicate to Jesus. Never be ‘ashamed of the 
testimony of the Lord,’ and be willing to be a 
‘ partaker of the afflictions of the gospel.’ Look 
forward to battle scenes. They will come. 
The enemy will be sure to be on hand with the 
powers of darkness. He never fails to do so. 
Therefore, expect to ‘endure hardness as a 
good soldier of Jesus Christ,’ and ‘study to 
show thyself approved unto God, a workman 
that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly divid- 
ing the word of truth.’ And now, my beloved 
son, God in heaven bless and keep you. He 
275 


276 


An Hundred-Fold. 


has called you to a holy calling. May he go 
with you every step of the way. I feel, Harold, 
that I shall not be here long. I am nearing the 
‘swelling of Jordan,’ and I cannot tell you how 
happy I am to see the fulfillment of my hopes 
concerning you at hand. There has been a 
minister in our family for five generations — 
always the eldest son, and I do not want to be 
the first to fail in having one to give to the 
Lord.” 

Before Harold went away, he made a parting 
visit to Clinton. He did not ask or expect a 
great deal of sympathy from Kate, but from 
Mrs. Knox and Miss Eichie he received all that 
his heart could wish. 

“It is what I call a golden opportunity,” 
said Mrs. Knox, “ and I hope the old bachelor 
uncle will open his heart still further and send 
some of his Australian gold to your self-sacri- 
ficing step-mother. She has shown what kind 
of metal she is made of, I think ; and the only 
dark spot about it is, that your going will leave 
her in a bad fix financially. I can’t see, for 
the life of me, Harold, how she is to get along 
without your help.” 

“I don’t either,” murmured Harold; “but 
she insists, and I don’t know hardly how to re- 
fuse. I confess it looks extremely selfish in 
me, and yet it seems the only thing to do.” 

Miss Eichie spent the evening at Mrs. Knox’s, 
and they had one of their song treats for the 
last time for years — it might be forever. 

When it was over, Harold walked home with 
Edna, and in the course of the walk asked her 
to correspond with him. 


Ward Comes to the Front. 277 

“ I ask it, Miss Eichie,” said lie, “ because I 
believe it will be a help to me, and a stimulus 
and encouragemnt to my work. My sister — 
you must have noticed that — is not exactly in 
sympathy with me in these things. Not, of 
course, but what she wishes me well, and would 
do all she could to help me, but she lacks the 
something that I especially need, and that I 
have always found in you. Am I asking too 
much?” 

“I fear you are expecting too much,” re- 
turned Edna. ^‘1 think, doubtless, you are 
overrating my capabilities. But however that 
may be, I shall be only too glad to do anything 
to help you to reach a successful issue. I can 
heartily sympathize with you, at least, and I am 
so glad for your father’s sake as well as your 
own that you are able at last to prepare for 
what you have so long felt to be your life- 
work.” 

“I understood from sister Kate some time 
ago,” said Harold, that your own heart is reach- 
ing out toward the foreign field — that you have 
a desire to become a missionary. Is this cor- 
rect, or is it supposition on her part ? ” 

He felt the hand upon his arm tremble a 
little, but the voice which answered him was 
clear and steadfast. I confess to having had 
such dreams,” she said. “As a child I was a 
universal reader, and some works concerning 
the lives and labors of some of our prominent 
missionaries fell into my hands, and I read 
them with avidity. I remember my heart was 
very much stirred over them. The memory 
followed me and became a part of my life. 


278 


An Hundred-Fold, 


There was a time when I thought that I must 
prepare to go — that it was the only thing to do 
— but the way hedged up, and at present it is 
but a dream. I can say, however, that the 
thought is still a very pleasant one.” 

“Has your mind been directed to any one 
point in the foreign field,” asked Harold, much 
interested, “ or is your interest merely general? ” 

“ I think that China has been the place of my 
dreams,” she answered; “at least, I find myself 
more interested in the Chinese than in any other 
people ; but perhaps it is because I have per- 
sonal friends among the missionaries there.” 

“I am glad to know that you have thought 
of undertaking the Lord’s work in this way,” 
said Harold, as he parted with her at the door 
of her boarding-place. “ It serves to strengthen 
the links of the friendship which binds us, and 
brings us to a more perfect mutual sympathy. 
Good-bye, and ‘ May God be with us till we 
meet again.’ ” The next moment he was gone. 

There was a letter from Ward when Harold 
reached home. It was written to the whole 
family, and was a breezy affair, full of the 
“wine of new life.” With shining eyes, Mrs. 
Belmont held up to Harold’s astonished gaze 
a slip of thin blue paper. 

“Another check!” he exclaimed, taking it in 
his hand, “and for fifteen dollars! Hurrah for 
Ward! He’s coming to the front. If he keeps 
this up, you will have no difficulty in getting 
along in number- one style.” 

“ He assures us that he can and will,” said 
she, eagerly. “ He says that, now that he does 
not go to places which cost money, he will be 


Ward Comes to the Front, 279 

able to help us considerably. Oh ! Harry, it 
seems as if the Lord is answering our prayers 
for Ward by opening the very windows of 
heaven. My heart isn’t big enough to receive 
the blessing.” 

Meanwhile, Ward, in his far-off home in Cali- 
fornia, is trying to make the best of life in the 
best and wisest sense, and to be the “jail-round” 
good boy he had written of his determination 
to be in his letter to Kate. We will spend one 
Sunday with him. No one in Mr. Randall’s 
house stirs until nine o’clock or later on Sun- 
day mornings. His only child. Miss Meta, has 
never been in the habit of going to Sunday- 
school ; and she and her mother generally pass 
by the eleven o’clock service, as they have not 
enough energy, after the late breakfast, to get 
ready; so, unless Mr. Randall takes a notion 
to attend, there is no church-going until even- 
ing. Ward did not use to go, either. After 
being out late Saturday night at some place of 
entertainment, it was unusually refreshing to lie 
in bed Sunday morning and sleep as long as 
he wanted to; and Ward fell into the habit 
only too easily. But after he had forsaken self 
for Christ, everything changed with him. He 
grew to fairly hate the lying in bed on Sunday 
mornings, and contracted the habit of getting 
his own breakfast — for he was so much one of 
the family as to be allowed the privilege of go- 
ing about the house as he liked — and going to 
Sunday-school and to church. Mr. Randall 
laughed at him, and Meta pouted over what 
she was pleased to style the “absurd nonsense” 
of his actions; but one good thing about Ward 


280 


An Hundred-Fold. 


was this: when he determined to do a good 
thing, he was not to be ridiculed out of it. So 
we see him this morning singing gaily about 
the kitchen, as he makes his coffee and boils 
his eggs, while all the others in the house are 
fast asleep. It was a little earlier than usual 
this morning, too; for Ward has some business 
on hand for his Father in heaven before he 
goes to Sunday-school. There is a young man 
on one of the back streets in whom he is inter- 
ested. He had formed the young man’s ac- 
quaintance in a rather strange way. He had 
gone up the street for something, just the night 
before, and had seen this very young man gaz- 
ing hungrily at a sign over a saloon-door : 

“Absolutely Free Lunches Served Here 
AT All Hours. 

Step in and Try Us.” 

The young man was poor, as evidenced by his 
shabby clothes, and was disheartened and dis- 
couraged-looking, and Ward understood just 
how much he longed for that lunch for which 
he need not pay. But Ward knew, too, what 
a terrible serpent lay coiled behind the “free 
lunch,” and, filled with alarm for the stranger, 
he stepped up and tapped him lightly on the 
shoulder. 

“Don’t go in there,” said he, very earnestly. 

“Come with me, and I’ll show you a better 
1 ^ 
place. 

“ But it’s free, you see,” said the misguided 
young man, who was evidently not long from 


Ward (jrnnes to the Front. 281 

the country, ‘‘and I’m desperate hungry, and 
not a cent in my pocket.” 

“I’ll agree to furnish you a respectable meal 
if you’ll come with me, and it shall cost you 
nothing,” replied Ward; and, linking his arm 
within that of his new acquaintance, he led 
him to a respectable restaurant and saw him 
well provided for. 

“You’re the best fellow that I’ve seen in this 
town, by a long shot,” said the stranger, when, 
his hunger appeased, he sat gazing in surprise 
at his benefactor. “I’ve walked everywhere 
since I came here, and you’re the first kind 
person I’ve seen.” 

“I am glad to do you a favor,” said Ward, 
“ but I am going to ask one in return, and that 
is, that you will go to Sunday-school and to 
church with me to-morrow. I suppose you are 
one of the many young men about town who 
are seeking work and finding none. I am on a 
committee of our church to look out for just 
those very fellows. Will you tell me where you 
are to be found, so that I can look you up in 
the morning?” 

The young, man mentioned a lodging-house 
in a questionable part of the city, and Ward 
parted with him, assuring him that he would 
call for him in the morning ; and this was why 
Ward had risen a half-hour earlier than usual. 

A quarter past eight finds him all ready ; and, 
with his Bible in his hand, he kneels in his 
room for a moment to ask God’s help in rescu- 
ing this soul from the death-traps of the city. 
Then he goes forth on his mission, and nine 
o’clock finds him in his place in Sunday-school, 


282 


An Hundred-Fold, 


with the shabby stranger beside him. As soon 
as an opportunity offers, he seeks out Mr. Mc- 
Yay, and lays the case before him. Cannot 
something be done for this aimless lad — some- 
thing in which Ward can help? Mr. McYay 
thinks that there can be. He will see that some- 
thing definite is arranged to-morrow whereby 
the boy may find employment. Can Ward take 
care of him to-day? Ward can and does, with 
another meal at the restaurant persuading him 
to attend the Young Men’s Christian Associa- 
tion in the afternoon ; and when he parts with 
him for a quiet hour or so of reading in his 
own room before he goes to the Young People’s 
Meeting, it is with the understanding that he 
is the young man’s friend, and means to help 
him on still further in the good way. 

Evening comes. It is the monthly meeting 
in the Young People’s Society, and Ward 
has a paper on our missions in China. He was 
never so interested in his life before. He has 
gathered his items of information with wisdom, 
and made his selections with the greatest care ; 
and he feels as if he could plead the cause of 
the Chinese all night. His heart is still full of 
it when Hr. Preston rises in the pulpit to de- 
liver his evening discourse. The Scripture read 
is the parable of the ten virgins, and the sub- 
ject of the Doctor’s discourse is “Waiting for 
the Bridegroom.” It is impressive, scholarly, 
and eloquent. As he concludes, the Doctor re- 
quests the members of the congregation to do 
some work for Christ then and there. 

“ I feel impressed with the belief,” says he, 
“ that there are souls here waiting to be spoken 


Ward Comes to the Front. 283 

to on the subject of religion, and that the Spirit 
is struggling with his witnesses. Will not every 
one who is conscious of being a Christian ask 
his right-hand neighbor to enlist in Christ’s 
service? While we stand and sing, or at the 
close of the song, speak ‘Just a word for 
Jesus.’ ” 

Ward looks toward his right hand as he 
rises, and sees by his side an elegant young 
man, a perfect stranger. Offering him a share 
of his hymn-book, Ward whispers; “Are you 
waiting forthe Bridegroom ? ” 

The young man bends upon him a pair of 
very intellectual eyes, and whispers back : 
“Thank you, I am not. Will you pray for 
me?” 

Ward goes home with his heart full of song, 
and finds a discontented Meta in the parlor. 

“Such a dry old sermon as we had!” she 
complains; “all about opportunities and the 
like ! I never see any chance of helping other 
folks, if I wanted to. What are ministers for, 
if they must shove their work off upon other 
folks?” 

“No opportunities!” says Ward, as he lays 
his tired head on his pillow ; “ and the day has 
been just as full of them to me as it could be.’’ 


CHAPTEK XXXIII. 

KATE'S DECISION. 

W HEN Kate’s eyes first fell on the little 
row of shining, golden curls lying in 
their blue satin bed, a perfect rush of 
emotions . mastered her for the time, and, as I 
said, she burst into a fiood of ‘ tears. As her 
heart melted within her and yearned over the 
pretty tresses, all that was good within her 
urged her to a speedy reconciliation with those 
she had injured. But it was very hard for Kate 
to do right — harder than for many others. 
She was no moral heroine. I am not sure that 
she would not have found it easier to undergo 
a surgical operation than to bring herself to 
acknowledge that she had been in the wrong, 
and entreat forgiveness. Still, she even went 
so far as to gather pen, ink and paper together 
for the purpose of writing to them all that was 
in her heart ; but after several unsatisfactory 
attempts, she replaced them in her desk, mur- 
muring in her thought that she was not in a fit 
state to write ; her nerves were all unstrung ; a 
good night’s rest would make her all right, and 
then she would put it off no longer. But the 
morning brought many unforseen duties to 
light, and the whole day passed by without a 
single opportunity to write the intended letter. 
With the evening there came company. Then 
she determined that the very next Saturday she 
would go home and settle everything properly. 
284 


Kate's Decision, 


285 


It would be much better to have it out face to 
face after all; but when Saturday arrived, she 
found she was no nearer it than before. So, 
with one excuse and another, several weeks 
slipped away, and still there remained the un- 
confessed fault, the heavy heart, and the old 
unrest. 

Mr. Percival had never said anything to her 
but once, and that was not long after their talk 
together on the subject. They were alone in 
the parlor. It was Saturday evening. He 
said : “I called on your dear father as I came 
up, Kate. He sent word that he was longing 
to see you. Perhaps it may be imaginary on 
my part ; but he looks so ethereal ; all earthli- 
ness has fled away, and I thought if there was 
anything you wished to do to make him happy, 
anything special you want to say to him, you 
would better not delay. Sometimes God doesn’t 
let us have more than one opportunity to set 
things right. 

He had walked away from her then without 
saying another word, and had entered into a 
brisk conversation with his host and hostess as 
to the feasibility of introducing a plan in the 
church for some direct temperance work, for 
even little Clinton had its saloon. 

It was another Saturday evening, some little 
time after Harold’s departure for Chicago. 
They had had a very pleasant day. Mrs. Car- 
rolton had invited them to a dinner-party, and 
with the evening came Arthur. They were all 
gathered in the parlor with the exception of 
Mr. Knox, who had not yet come in from the 
store, and were discussing all the little happen- 


286 


An Hundred-Fold, 


ings which had occured in their daily lives since 
they last met, and Mr. Percival was just telling 
Kate that he had seen her father on his way 
up, and had found him unusually cheerful and 
happy, when the door opened suddenly, and 
Hetty appeared with a frightened face. She 
approached Mrs. Knox at once and spoke in a 
low tone: “If you please, ma’am, will you 
come out in the dining-room just a minute? 
There is someone there waiting to speak to 
you.” 

Mrs. Knox rose immediately and excused 
herself. “I don’t really think it is necessary,” 
she said, laughing lightly, “for you are such 
good friends I don’t flatter myself that I shall 
be missed.” Tripping out to the dining-room, 
she looked round for the “someone” whom 
Hetty had in waiting, but, to her surprise, she 
saw no one but her husband. 

“John — you!” she exclaimed. “It cannot 
be you who wanted to see me ? ” 

“Yes, Fanny, it is I, and no one else.” 

“Why, what do you mean by all this? Why 
didn’t you come right into the parlor and speak 
up like a man? You act as secret as if you 
had a whole world of mysteries hidden away 
in your pockets. I have almost a notion to be 
a little provoked at you.” 

“Hush!” said Mr. Knox. “I couldn’t speak 
before Kate. Something has happened.” 

“O John! It isn’t her father? Don’t tell 
me that there is anything fatal. He isn’t dead ! ” 

Mr. Knox bowed his head in sad assent. 
“He had a second stroke just about dark, and 
died at eight o’clock. I received a telegram, 


Kate's Decision. 


287 


begging me to break it gently to Kate. I can’t 
do it, Fanny. You will have to.” 

But the tender-hearted little woman wrung 
her hands pitifully. “ O John ! I cannot.” 
Then, after a moment of desperate thought, she 
said, promptly, “Let Arthur do it. He’ll know 
how better than either of us, of course. Call 
him out and tell him, and I’ll go and fix things 
so she can get off on the eleven o’clock train. 
It is ten, now. For pity’s sake hurry, John. 
Hetty will run over to Spencer’s and have Jim 
come over and help you hitch up to the carri- 
age. It’s too far to the station for her to try to 
walk. Don’t stop another minute,” and away 
she flew upstairs. 

Arthur was accordingly summoned hurriedly 
from the parlor, and Kate sat wondering and 
waiting, and gazing out into the white moon- 
light, with her head thrown back on the head- 
rest of her chair. Her back was'J toward the 
door, so that she did not see him when he 
returned and walked up softly behind her chair. 
In fact, she was not aware of his presence un- 
til he repeated softly and with marvellous sweet- 
ness: “‘Watch, therefore, for ye know not 
what hour your Lord doth come.’ We know 
so well, though, Katie, that to him ‘to live was 
Christ, and to die was gain.’” 

With a startled look Kate turned and saw 
him. “How you frightened me,” she said. 
“ What do you mean by those dreadful words? ” 

“Are they dreadful w’ords ? ” he asked, cover- 
ing one of her hands with his as it lay on the 
arm of the chair. “Is it dreadful for Jesus to 
come for his waiting servants? Dreadful to go 


288 


An Hundred- Fold. 


home with him to that world of light where 
sorrow, sickness, pain nor death can never 
come? O Kate, they are beautiful words to 
me.” 

“ There is something back of all this,” she 
said, trembling from head to foot. “ Why did 
they call you from the room? Where is Mrs. 
Knox ? What has happened ? ” 

“ Only the very same thing which is happen- 
ing every day in this changing w^orld of ours,” 
he replied, very gently. “Another soul has 
been given wings and set at liberty. Another 
dear one has passed away into the great be- 
yond. The Lord has come in an hour when 
we looked not for him, and has called one of his 
friends home. I am so glad he is at rest, Kate.” 

“Who?” demanded the girl, springing to her 
feet, and gazing into his face with wild eyes. 
“You need not tell me now,M know.” 

“ Listen quietly, then,” said he, still keeping 
the hand he had taken in his firm, warm clasp. 
“ Katie, the dear father passed away very sud- 
denly this evening. He had a second stroke 
and only lived an hour. Do not do that ! ” as 
she uttered a piercing scream and snatched 
away the hand he held. “You must not cry 
out in that way, my dear girl. You must be 
calm in order to act. And the blow is such a 
merciful one. There was no release from that 
bed of pain in any other way. He was so glad 
to go. He has been patiently awaiting his call 
heavenward for such a long, weary time. It 
was such glorious gain for him to die.” 

“Don’t talk to me like that!” she cried, pas- 
sionately. “A merciful blow! Oh! it has 


Kate^s Decision, 


289 


killed me! He told me that I had a hard heart, 
and I meant to let him know that it had soft- 
ened toward him, and now I never can. I 
meant to tell him all very soon. I was going 
home to show them all that I was sorry, and I 
meant to do everything to make them forgive 
me, and now it is too late! Oh! why did I 
put it off? I thought once that I would go to- 
day, but I stayed for the dinner-party. Oh ! 
to think that he can never know how really full 
of affection my heart was for him ; how it has 
longed to make restitution for all the sad days 
and sleepless nights it has caused him. Oh! 
Mr. Percival, God has punished me so severely.” 

“He has tempered justice with mercy, my 
dear Kate. The others whom you have wronged 
are still living. You can carry your repentant 
heart home to them. Shall you go at once? 
There is a train goes at eleven. Mrs. Knox has 
thoughtfully gone to arrange what she thinks 
will be necessary for your journey, and I will 
beg a leave of absence and go with you.” 

“You are too kind,” said Kate, preparing to 
leave the room. “I don’t know how to thank 
you properly for standing by me in this, my 
second special time of trouble. But what I 
want to say is this : whether you go with me or 
not, whether there is anyone to stand by me, I 
am determined to do right at last if God will 
help me. I will go and tell her all that has 
been struggling for utterance these many 
months, and if she can forgive me, well. If 
not, I will learn to bear it as best I can, and 
own the punishment a just one.” 

‘ You cannot doubt her readiness to forgive ? ” 
19 


290 


An Hundred-Fold. 


said Mr. Percival, coming close to her side and 
speaking with the intense earnestness habitual 
to him. “ My dear sister, she will meet you more 
than half-way. You don’t know her. She is 
one of those blessed Christians whose very 
presence is a benediction. But I must not 
detain you another moment. You have but 
twenty minutes to get ready. Try to be as 
calm and trustful as you can. I will ask Mr. 
Knox to excuse me to my congregation to-mor- 
row, and will be ready to attend you. Don’t 
thank me,” as she tried once more to show how 
grateful she was. “You must know that I 
must be there when he is laid away,” and open- 
ing the door for her, he watched her pass out 
with a satisfied look on his good face. 

“That is as it should be,” he said, as he 
closed the door on her retreating foot- steps. 
“ Kate has been a wayward child of our Father, 
but I believe she is a child. And she has had 
a lesson that will probably endure her life- 
time.” 

A short time after they were speeding on- 
ward towards Oakland. Kate drew her veil 
closely over her sad face, and shrank back in 
the corner of her seat unable to carry on even 
the semblance of a conversation ; and Mr. Per- 
cival, kindly mindful of her, only watched for 
an opportunity to render her some service. 
About half-way they were stopped at a little 
station by a telegram that there was a wreck 
ahead, and that it would be some time before 
the wrecking train could clear away the debris 
so that their train could pass through. Then 
six hours went by and yet they were detained. 


Kate's Decision. 


291 


Kate was in an extremity of impatience. Now 
that she had fully settled her mind upon doing 
what was right, she felt delay was dangerous, 
and her frightened soul conjured up all sorts of 
fears. She walked restlessly up and down the 
narrow little waiting-room, where were gath- 
ered the few passengers beside herself who had 
grown weary of the cars, and then she stepped 
out upon the platform in front and rapidly tra- 
versed its length and breadth, the cool night 
wind blowing in her feverish face and soothing 
her with its gentle zephyrs. Mr. Percival 
walked by her side unperceived. She saw 
nothing but the form of her loved father lying 
cold and still in his last long sleep in the parr 
lor at home, deaf to the confession which had 
come too late. 


CHAPTEE XXXIV. 

“/SC EE OIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP.'* 

I T was high noon when Kate stepped out of 
the railway coach upon the depot platform 
at Oakland. It was very warm, oppress- 
ively so, and she found the waiting-room al- 
most unlDearable while waiting for Mr. Percival 
to take the checks to the baggage-room and 
obtain her baggage. While she waited there, 
a quick, familiar step attracted her attention, 
and, looking up, she saw Harold at her side. 
In a moment she was in his arms and sobbing 
on his shoulder. 

“ He is sleeping so sweetly, Kate,” w^hispered 
her gentle brother. ‘‘ It stays my tears to look 
at his placid face. I would not awaken him if 
I could.” 

“When did you come home?” she inquired, 
raising her head from its resting-place. 

“ I arrived about two hours ago,” answered 
Harold. “They telegraphed me at once, and 
I caught the night express to Dayton. I un- 
derstood that there was a wreck on your road. 
I supposed that you would be in on this train, 
and I have been to the depot twice to see if 
you had come.” 

Mr. Percival appearing at this moment with 
the baggage, the two young men clasped hands 
in silent sympathy, and they all entered a hack 
and were driven rapidly home. 

At sight of the floating crape fastened to the 
292 


He Giveth His Beloved Sleeps 293 


door, Kate’s heart seemed to die within her; 
her tears burst forth afresh, and Harold put 
his arms, tenderly about her and carried her, 
half-fainting, up to the privacy of her own 
room. One of the women who were helping 
about the house came in almost immediately, 
and gathered her in her arms. To Kate’s as- 
tonishment, she saw that it was Mrs.- Kansom. 

“ My dear child,” said she, what a sad 
home-coming it is for you! Bathe your face 
in this cologne ; it will revive you. But, Kate, 
as sure as the world, there ought not to be any 
mourning for him. If ever a soul was ready 
for eternity, it was your father’s. He lies like 
a child asleep on its mother’s bosom. And he 
was conscious to the last, though he couldn’t 
speak a word ; but we seemed to know what he 
wanted to say. But Mrs. Belmont can tell you 
about it much better than I can. She would 
come up with me last night and fix up your old 
room. These flowers are off the very plants 
you raised yourself and thought so much of. I 
suppose you think it strange, Kate, that I am 
here. I want to tell you that I made a big 
mistake when I judged your mother as I did. 
She is a blessed woman, if ever there was one 
on the face of the earth. I know I helped to 
set you against her, and I want to tell you I’m 
sorry. I’d like to undo it now in the best way.” 

Kate stretched out her hand impulsively. ' 

‘‘Oh! Mrs. Eansom,” said she, “I, too, have 
been so mistaken, so bitterly prejudiced. But 
I have come home hoping to make amends. 
Do you think I can ? ” 

“Of course you can,” said Mrs. Hansom, 


294 


An Hundred-Fold. 


emphatically. “She loves to forgive. Why, 
she received me and Sarah just as if we’d al- 
ways been her best friends instead of the busy- 
bodies we had condescended to be. We were 
all too big cowards to write and tell you about 
it, but the way of it was just this: Brownie — 
bless his heart! — got it into his dear little head 
to try to make peace between us, and he worked 
things so cunningly, and finally got us all to 
attending the Young People’s Society here ; and 
I’ll defy anybody to attend that long and not be 
changed throughout. The Spirit of Christ is 
certainly there. We couldn’t stand it. Sarah 
and I couldn’t sleep, and we got up bright and 
early one morning and came over and con- 
fessed everything. You needn’t worry a par- 
ticle, dear child. Forgiveness reigns in her 
heart.” 

Kate clasped her hands tightly together. “I 
must see her right away, Mrs. Hanson,” she 
said, “before I see any of the rest. Where 
can I find her? Is she — ” her voice failed; 
she could go no farther. 

“Yes, she ^5,” said Mrs. Eansom. “She 
stays right there with him all the time, with 
the Bible on her lap. The children are with 
Nellie in the study. There is a great change 
there, too, Kate. It does seem as if when the 
death angel once enters a home he leaves the 
door wide open. That dear girl isn’t long for 
this world. Shall I go down to the parlor with 
you? you’re so weak yet; you don’t look as if 
you could stand alone.” 

“ Thank you, but I would rather go alone.” 

She made her way down the stairs holding 


‘‘ So He Giveth His Beloved Sleep 295 


by the stair-rail, for she was still faint and 
giddy, and approached the parlor where lay the 
silent sleeper. She heard Betty Ann and 
other women moving about the dining-room 
softly, and the low-toned voices in the study 
told her that Mr. Percival and Harold were 
there with Nellie and the children. She sat 
down in one of the hall chairs until the creep- 
ing sickness should pass away. At last she 
pushed open the parlor door softly and entered 
the room. Yes, there he lay in his calm, majes- 
tic sleep, with the unearthly beauty of the 
spirit world illumining his face. Beside him, 
gazing raptly upon the dead face, sat her step- 
mother, with her back to the door, never mov- 
ing, never changing her position, only looking, 
looking as if she would fain- see the heavenly 
country to which her beloved had journeyed; 
the gates of pearl through which he had entered 
the celestial city, and the glorious company of 
the “Just made perfect,” with whom he was 
walking the golden streets and partaking of the 
tree of life. A feeling of awe took possession 
of Kate as she stood there waiting for some 
token that her presence was noted; but none 
being manifested she stepped lightly forward, 
her foot- fall making no noise on the soft carpet, 
and bent sorrowfully over the casket, upon the 
silver plate of which was inscribed Dr. Bel- 
mont’s name and age, and the words of the 
Spirit : “ So he giveth his beloved sleep.” 

“O papa!” moaned the girl, with white 
lips; “are you really gone never to return, and 
can you never hear me say that I am broken- 
hearted for the way I have treated you? Can 


296 


An Hundred- Fold, 


you never know that I have been repentant 
from my heart for months and months, and 
that I only lacked the courage (of my convic- 
tions) to come and tell you so? O papa! if 
you could only speak to me once morel” 

Then she felt a sustaining arm about her, 
and a soft. voice saying: “He will not return 
to us, but we shall go to him. O Kate, the 
promises of God are stepping-stones to heaven. 
Walk over your trouble on them, my dear. 
You know he has said they shall not over- 
whelm you.” 

“Mother!” exclaimed the agonized girl, sink- 
ing on her knees beside the casket, and clasp- 
ing her mother’s tender hands in hers, “hear 
me when I call you by that dear name to-day. 
Hear me when I say that I repent in my heart 
of all the cruel past; that my bitterness has 
melted away within me, and that I am forever 
sorry for all that I have ever done amiss to 
you and yours. Hear me when I say forgive, 
and if you can, pardon me for the sake of him 
who lies so still here to-day.” 

For answer, Mrs. Belmont stooped down and 
clasped the weeping Kate within the shelter of 
her arms, saying simply: “My daughter, now 
and always. All is not only forgiven, my dear, 
but committed to the dead past never to find 
a resurrection.” 

When she was calmer, Kate sat down by her 
mother’s side and listened while she told her 
of the last few days of her father’s life ; how 
his thoughts had turned to her time and again 
so lovingly, recalling incidents of her childhood 
and dwelling on them tenderly. The very last 


**So He Giveih His Beloved Sleepy 297 

afternoon of his life he had said: “You must 
keep Katie’s room ready for her, Lucia; she 
may come home any time now.” Then he had 
referred to the story which gave rise to the old, 
well-known hymn, “There’s a light in the 
window for thee, brother,” and asked to have 
the different pictures of her brought to him 
that he might look at them, and had said softly 
that he believed she grew prettier with the 
passing of the years. 

Thus comforted, Kate sat until Harold and 
Arthur joined them, and persuaded them to 
come out to the study. 

“ Ward will not be able to return, of course,” 
said Mr. Percival, seating Kate in an easy 
chair. 

“Of course not,” returned Harold. “He 
was telegraphed, but he couldn’t possibly reach 
here in time for the funeral, and I don’t expect 
him to come at all. As for Uncle Richard, he 
has a constitutional antipathy to death. He 
never goes to a funeral. I could not prevail 
on him to be here. He says he wants to re- 
member father as he left him, alive and well.” 

“And yet, with Christ, he is ‘alive forever- 
more,’” said the young minister, in his earnest 
way. “Oh! if we could only learn to look be- 
yond; for up there where he is to-day ‘The 
inhabitant shall not say I am sick.’ Oh! how 
‘blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.’” 


CHAPTEE XXXT. 

STANDING BT HIS COLORS. 

W AED sat in his room in Pasadena with 
bowed head and tearful eyes. A tele- 
gram announcing the death of his father 
fluttered in his nervous hand, and the burning 
tears fell as he looked at the fatal words: “Fa- 
ther passed away this evening at eight o’clock.” 

One of the bitterest thoughts in the boy’s 
mind was, that he could not be present to see 
him laid away. Before he could make half the 
distance, the dear father would be buried be- 
side his precious mother in O^land cemetery. 
A groan as bitter as death burst from his over- 
charged heart as he swept, with his mental eye, 
the past, and realized, as he had many times 
done already, that, if he had only taken Har- 
old’s advice, he would have been with them all 
at home instead of in far-off California. The 
temptation to go at any cost was strong. The 
tidings had made him home-sick. But he at 
once reflected that he could not honorably 
cancel his engagement with Mr. Eandall, and 
that to go and return would take a much larger 
sum of money than he could command, besides 
using up every dollar that he was devoting to- 
ward another remittance for mother and the 
children; and they needed it so much — Ward 
could imagine just how much. It was his se- 
cret ambition to become in time the mainstay 
of the family, and to this end he had become 
298 


Standing hy His Colors, 299 

so self-denying that Mr. Eandall was prone to 
rally him unmercifully at times upon his ava- 
riciousness ; for Ward, with his characteristic 
reserve, had kept the pitiful home- life hidden 
in the depths of his own heart, revealing no- 
thing except the mere fact of his father’s help- 
less condition. 

It was now no hardship for him to pass his 
leisure hours in his own room, for he found 
the books ‘which Mr. McYay had commissioned 
him to read and to make his own very interest- 
ing; and, as he progressed, he became more 
and more convinced that his father knew best 
what his abilities and qualifications were. He 
had already had- his dreams of. returning home 
flushed with success, with a brilliant future 
shining in the distance, the man that his father 
had longed to see him become. 

But that dear father would now never see the 
result of his whispered prayers to God. Still, 
he could honor that father’s precious memory; 
he could “ quit himself like a man,” and carry 
out, with unflinching purpose, his dear father’s 
wishes; and God would know. H© raised his 
head, and a smile broke over his troubled face. 
The thought had sweetened the bitter cup that 
he was obliged to drink. God knew, though 
father might never do so, and he would make 
it all right. He would just lay down all worry, 
and trust God. Drawing toward him the little 
writing-table with which his room was sup- 
plied, he wrote a tender letter of regret to Har- 
old, saying at the close that he meant to be, in 
every way he could, the man papa had wanted 
to see him become ; and would not Harold pray 


300 An Hundred-Fold. 

for him that he might grow up into Christ in 
all things”? 

After writing this letter, Ward knelt down 
by the side of the little table, and prayed that 
God would crown his efforts with success ; that 
he would enable him to be a moral hero ; to 
be never ashamed of his colors, but to be such 
a standard-bearer among his fellows that they 
might also be moved to join the army of the 
Lord. Ward did need courage along these 
lines — as what young man does not? — for he 
had found it something of a difficult matter to 
stand by his colors without flinching, every- 
where and before everybody. It had, perhaps, 
been the hardest to do right in Mr. Eandall’s 
household, and he felt that he had never yet 
really made himself understood. He saw that 
Meta, ,the daughter, either was, or pretended to 
be, puzzled over his withdrawal from the card- 
table ; that she either would not, or could not, 
understand his declining to attend herself and 
her mother to the , theatre, when “papa pur- 
chased the tickets”; that she looked very un- 
believingly, to say the least, at his “goody- 
goody” notions in attending ch.urch and Sun- 
day-school so faithfully. But Ward had never 
felt that he could state right out that he was 
now a Christian, and could not conscientiously 
do those things which he had done heretofore. 
It seemed to him that it would sound too much 
like judging, for Mr. and Mrs. Eandall, as well 
as Meta, were both members in good standing 
of the Bussell- Street Church. Wouldn’t it look 
exactly as if he were making himself out to be 
a better Christian than they ? He remembered 


301 


Standing hy His Colors, 

how he had always felt about such things. But 
to-night, as he arose from his knees after mak- 
ing that earnest appeal to God, he determined 
to embrace the first opportunity to let them all 
know exactly where he stood on these ques- 
tions. He did not want to trail the King’s 
colors in the dust. 

The opportunity presented itself sooner than 
he expected. One evening after. tea he was 
retiring to his room as usual, when Mr. Ean- 
dall stayed him. “How now. Ward. What 
are you doing with yourself every night up 
there alone in your room ? Practicing gymnas- 
tics or writing love-letters ? You didn’t use to 
make such a hermit of yourself. Come, own 
up, now. We miss you. Meta has been sulky 
every evening for a month.” 

Ward flushed. He had meant to keep his 
law-books a secret for the present, not knowing 
but his employer might feel uneasy about it; 
but being questioned in so direct a manner, he 
could not well help making a direct reply. So 
he said : “ I am trying to study a little, sir.” 

Mr. Randall looked grave immediately. “Are 
you sorry. Ward,” said he, “do you regret for 
a moment giving up your last year at school 
for labor? because, if you do, just say so, and 
I will put you through right here at my own 
expense. You know that I have made you the 
offer before. I don’t forget that your father 
earnestly wished you to be an educated man. 
I confess that I have sometimes been sorry 
that I urged you to leave. Perhaps I might 
better have held my tongue, but I meant only 
kindness, I really did. And you have dono 


302 


An Hundred-Fold. 


well for a boy, Ward, and will soon do better. 
If you stick to it, you will, as I said, make your 
fortune by the time you are thirty.” 

“ It isn’t that, Mr. Eandall. I am not study- 
ing school-books. I am reading law under 
the direction of Mr. Austin McVay. He is an 
old friend of my step-mother, and at her re- 
quest has interested himself in me a good deal. 
I—” 

“ Oh! of course I know McVay,” interrupted 
Mr. Eandall. “ Everybody knows him. He is 
one of the finest lawyers in Pasadena. Be- 
sides that, he is a nice man. And your step- 
mother is a friend of his, hey? Well, I de- 
clare I You don’t — ” as his sharp, shrewd gaze 
rested on the boy standing before him, “you 
are not going to let that man make a lawyer of 
you after all ? ” 

Ward’s face fiushed scarlet, but the resolute 
look on it never. wavered for a moment. “I 
was just going to say,” said he, “that I am 
thinking of entering his office when I get 
through here, Mr. Eandall. I feel differently 
from what I did — well, from what I did when 
I came here. It is not only my father’s death 
which has turned my thoughts into another 
channel and made me wish to fulfil' his desires 
— not all that. There is something else. The 
change which I have recently met with has 
made me better acquainted with myself and 
my possibilities. I find now within me a reach- 
ing out toward professional life. I know, now, 
that my father saw it was there.” 

Mr. Eandall regarded him quizzically. “ This 
change you mention,” said he ; ‘‘ what may I 
understand by that ? ” 


303 


Standing by His Colors. 

Ward swallowed something that seemed to 
choke him ; then looking np, he replied : “ I 
had hoped you had seen it and understood. 
It is the change which only the God of salva- 
tion can work, Mr. Bandall. It is the change 
from ‘darkness to light, from the power of 
Satan unto God.’” 

Mr. Kandall’s eyes were misty. He glanced 
nervously at his wife and daughter who were 
still sitting idly at the table, and seemed, for just 
a moment, at a loss for a reply. Then he said, 
slowly: “I had observed that change. Ward, 
and I’m glad you’ve made it. Your life needed 
it not more than most boys, but there was a 
time when, I am free to confess, I had some 
fears for your future. There was a look about 
your face that told some pretty hard stories. 
Yes, I am glad you have started a new growth, 
and I have seen it, and I meant to speak about 
it, but it doesn’t come easy for me to talk about 
religion ; but I believe it’s a good thing, a very 
good thing, especially for young men. I should 
not want to be without it myself. And if, my 
boy, you feel that you want to cancel our en- 
gagement, I am ready any time, though I do 
think almost as much of you as if you were my 
own boy. But no doubt your father knew 
best. Well, my boy, success to you ; we will 
not detain you longer.” 

“ There is one thing more that I should like 
to say, sir, now that we are on the subject,” 
said Ward, advancing a step or two further in- 
to the room. “I presume you think it strange 
that I have refused to have a hand at cards, or 
go to the theatre, or things of like nature as I 


304 An Hundred-Fold. 

have done lately. I want to say that I can’t 
do these things and be the right kind of a 
Christian. They are wrong for me. I do not 
presume to say they are wrong for you. You 
must judge for yourselves about that. But 
they lead me into, all kinds of extravagancies ; 
they are a constant source of temptation to me. 
Once they led me into something very closely 
resembling a crime. The only way for me to 
do is to say no to every one of them, now and 
always.” 

He waited for a moment for some one to re- 
ply, but as there was only an embarrassing 
silence, he stepped quietly to the door, opened 
it, shut it softly after him, and retired to his 
room. 


CHAPTEE XXXVL 

META. 

M e. and Mrs. Eandall had gone out for 
the evening, and Meta was alone in the 
drawing-room. The room was a very 
pleasant one. The gas lit it all up brilliantly, 
and brought into full view the many costly and 
beautiful things with which it was filled. A 
grand piano stood invitingly open; a lovely 
silver-tongued music-box reposed upon a stand 
not far away, waiting for fairy fingers to wind 
it up ; books and pictures of every description 
were scattered about in rich profusion ; but 
Meta had no use for them to-night. She seemed 
restless and unhappy. Now she promenaded 
up and down the room; now she toyed with 
the curtains ; and again she sat down upon an 
easy chair, and gazed at the beds of roses in 
the carpet. Two or three times she made great 
preparations to do a bit of fancy work; but 
after going upstairs for the material, and 
searching her mother’s work-box through two 
or three times for a suitable needle, she took 
but half-a-dozen stitches, and tossed the costly 
fabric upon a little stand near by, with a much- 
disgusted air. 

“I wish that Ward would come in,” she mur- 
mured to herself, wandering aimlessly about 
the room. “ I don’t see what there is in those 
tiresome old prayer-meetings for him to like. 
I went once with Susie Holbrook, and that was 
enough for me. I don’t see why religion need 
20 305 


806 


An Hundred- Fold. 


to change people so ; it never changed me one 
mite. I wish that Ward hadn’t said what he 
did about it, anyway. I haven’t felt comfort- 
able since. It stirred me all up, and I don’t 
like it. ‘From darkness to light,’ he said. Why, 
that’s an awful change! I guess I’d be apt to 
know it if I had passed through it. I’m going 
to ask him more about it when he comes in, 
anyway. There he is now,” she added, as the 
hall-door opened and shut, and Ward’s foot- 
steps fell on the floor going in the direction of 
the stairs. She opened the^ parlor- door ab- 
ruptly. “Ward!” she called, “wait a minute; 
I want to see you.” 

“Well, take a good look,” said the boy, teas- 
ingly, turning round ; and then, as he saw that 
she waited for him, he advanced toward her. 
“I had an idea that ‘distance lends enchant- 
ment,’ ” said he ; “ but, if a closer observation 
of my classic phiz is especially to be desired, I 
am at your service. If you have your sketch- 
ing materials ready, I hope you will not detain 
me long, for my books are awaiting me, you 
know” 

Meta stamped her small foot impatiently. 

“That’s the way always!" she said. “You 
never have a minute to spare any more. I am 
just as good as your old books. Why don’t 
you study me f" 

With a comical grimace. Ward folded his 
arms, and, bending forward, struck a match 
and held it close to her face while he gazed at 
it inquiringly. 

“Let me see,” said he; “you have brown 
hair — I don’t know just exactly what shade to 


Meta. 


307 


call it, whether golden, seal, or nut. I guess it 
is betwixt and between — with a tendency to 
wriggle into curls. Light-blue, sparkling, rather 
angry-looking eyes, full of lightning flashes ; a 
kind of vegetable nose, and a mouth that is 
awfully pouty just now. There! my match has 
burned out. If you will come a little nearer 
the chandelier, my dear little volume in blue 
and gold, I can see better how to read the next 
page.” 

For answer, he- received a smart slap, and 
Meta burst into a laugh. 

“You provoking boy,” said she, “you are 
just too mean! Come into the drawing-room. 
I am all alone, and just as lonesome as I can 
be. Besides, I want to ask you some really 
solemn questions.” 

-“Well, if I must, I must,” said Ward, follow- 
ing her into the drawing-room and throwing 
himself into an easy chair. Now, then. Miss 
Prosecuting Attorney, begin. Question number 
one? Fire away.” 

“If you are so anxious to be so wonderfully 
good, I shouldn’t think you would talk slang,” 
said the fifteen-year- old girlie, reprovingly ; “ I 
don’t think that’s nice.” 

“Neither do I, Meta,” said Ward, honestly 
and gravely. “I am trying my level best to 
break off these old habits, but they stick just 
like burs. I sometimes almost despair of get- 
ting rid of them ; but, after all ” 

“After all, what?” asked Meta, curling her- 
self up in a corner of the divan, and gazing at 
the boy in the chair with a pair of very curi- 
ously inquiring eyes. 


308 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“I was going to say,” resumed Ward, “that 
it is possible to do anything with Christ to help. 
The Bible is clear upon that point, so I need 
not excuse myself. If I am weak, he is mighty. 
Of course we all know that there is no limit to 
his power and strength.” 

^^IIow do you know it?” questioned his small 
companion, eagerly. “How can people know 
such things? How dare they trust in anything 
of that kind just because the Bible says so?” 

“Why, because they experience it,” replied 
Ward. “As we need strength beyond what is 
human, God gives it to us, and we are actually 
carried right through things that we know we 
couldn’t have taken a step in alone. Don’t you 
remember the children of Israel, how they were 
led by the pillar of cloud and the pillar of fire 
through that vast wilderness? Would they 
have reached Canaan without God, do you 
think ? Why, he has always been the strength 
of his people. Just think what wonderful 
things he helped them to do! They stopped 
the mouths of lions, raised the dead to life, 
bore the most terrible tortures (and lots of this 
you get from other histories besides the Bible) ; 
they were slain with the sword, thrown into 
boiling oil, sawn asunder, flayed alive, and 
lived anywhere — in dens and caves of the 
earth. Christ was their strength, you see ; and 
he is just the same to-day. He gave your mo- 
ther strength to nurse you through the typhoid 
fever; I have heard her acknowledge it more 
than once. She said that she never could have 
taken care of you through all those long, weary 
weeks if God had not supported her. And I 


Meta. 


309 


know lie lias helped me more than once. Why 
cannot yon believe this, Meta? What is in 
the v/ay? ” 

“I don’t know,” replied Meta, striking the 
arm of the divan with her clenched hand; “I 
don’t think I believe anything now, or know 
anything to believe. I don’t read the Bible ; I 
never have read it of any account at all, and I 
have heard precious little of it read. I can’t 
say that I like it much, either. It’s queer and 
old-fashioned, and dry and hard to understand. 
I am a member of the Russell-Street Church, 
though, and so are mamma and papa ; and of 
course we expect to be saved and to go to heaven 
— of course we do ! But — I do wish. Ward Bel- 
mont, that you hadn’t talked out your thoughts 
and beliefs as you did the other day. It has just 
made me mad with myself ; I’m not a bit happy 
any more ; I can’t enjoy myself as I used to do 
in playing cards and going to the theatre and 
to dances and everything, because you think it 
is wrong; and if it is wrong for you, I can’t 
help feeling afraid that it is so for me and the 
rest of us. And then, I can’t believe it, either, 
because — as if we’d keep on doing it if we knew 
it was! — papa and mamma as well as myself. 
I’d just like to know how your religion came 
to turn you around this way. You used to be 
so different. I liked you better, too.” 

“I’m sorry for that,” said Ward, “because 
I am of the opinion that I’m a better fellow on 
the whole, and there’s a good deal more of me 
to like. But I can’t say that I am sorry for 
having stirred you up, Meta. I am glad that 
you are thinking, because thought always leads 


310 


An Hundred- Fold. 


to action sooner or later, and you will think 
yourself into doing the right thing by-and-by. 
I do want you to be ‘happy in Jesus,’ Meta. 
I am praying for it every day.” 

“Do you like going to prayer-meeting?” she 
asked, abruptly. “ What was it like to-night ? ” 
“Yes, I love to go,” replied Ward, with shin- 
ing eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. 
What was it like to-night? Do you remember 
the old hymn called ‘ Betreat ’ ? They used to 
sing it in my father’s church at Oakland so 
much. The last verse is this : 

“ There, there on eagle wings we soar, 

And sin and sense molest no more ; 

And heaven comes down our souls to greet, 

And glory crowns the mercy-seat.” 

It was like that verse, Meta, exactly, to me. I 
wish you had been there to see.” 

“Tell me about it,” said Meta. “What did 
they have to say that was so nice ? ” 

“Well,” said Ward, with a long-drawn sigh 
of satisfaction as he mentally reviewed the 
feast from which he had just come so refreshed 
and fed, “it was a meeting especially devoted 
to the interests of temperance. The pastor 
read the twelfth chapter of Homans to open 
the meeting. You know what it is — ” 

“ No, I don’t,” interrupted Meta. “ I haven’t 
the slightest idea of what is contained in the 
twelfth of Homans. You’ve got to tell me.” 

“ It is about presenting our bodies a living 
sacrifice to the Lord. I have my Bible right 
here. Let me read you the lesson so you can 
understand After the reading and two or 
three prayers, the pastor called for voluntary 


Meta. 


311 


speakers, and there was an old man away over 
in the corner — I haven’t an idea who he is — 
got up and asked for prayers for his son who 
was thinking of being a Christian, but who 
couldn’t make up his mind to give up his busi- 
ness, which is that of a rum-seller. You ought 
to have heard the prayers that followed that 
request. There must have been a dozen of 
them ; every one of them brief and right to the 
point. One young man prayed just these sim- 
ple words, but they went to everybody’s heart : 
‘O Lord, true and faithful, give this man the 
power to give up his old heart for a new one 
filled with thy love.’ Then there was a re- 
formed drinker got up and told his experience. 
He said he had resolved over and over again 
to turn over a new leaf, but every time he failed; 
and he never succeeded until he let Christ have 
his body as well as his soul. ‘I was a bar- 
tender,’ said he, * and just as long as I stuck to 
that I couldn’t be a Christian — the thing was 
impossible. But just as soon as I let it all go, 
and trusted God for honest labor, I found my- 
self on the solid rock.’ Oh! I can’t begin to 
tell you all, Meta. There were requests for 
prayer all over the house — mothers for their 
sons, sisters for their brothers, a doctor for a 
brother physician, and one dear little girl for a 
drunken father. Eight in the midst of it, may- 
be, someone would raise a song, and — words 
fail me. You must go yourself and see.” 

“Ward,” said Meta, slowly, “ do you think it 
would do me any good to go to a prayer-meet- 
ing like that? ” 

“ I am sure it would, Meta.” 


An Hundred-Fold. 


m 


‘‘Perhaps I may make up my mind to go 
with you next time ; and it may be that I shall 
not play cards much more, Ward. Papa has 
been somewhat worried about it since you said 
what you did. Do you suppose they did come 
near ruining you, Ward, really?” 

“ I know they really did, Meta.” 

“Then I hate them!” exclaimed the impul- 
sive girl, “and I shall never take pleasure in 
playing them again; and I wish that I knew 
how to be your kind of a Christian ; you seem 
so happy, and I am not happy, not one bit. 
Where did you get this lovely Bible, Ward? 
Here is poetry on the fly-leaf, ‘Best him, O 
loving Spirit.’ Who wrote that ? ” 

“My step-mother,” said Ward, reverently. 
“That poem has been like an angel’s hand 
beckoning me on towards heaven. I was so 
tired of life as I was living it. I knew in my 
soul that I was capable of better things, but I 
never thought of being rested by the Spirit of 
Christ until she showed me how.” 

“Your step-mother must be a good woman,” 
said Meta. “I should like to know her — I 
should like to know her very much.” 

“How would you like to correspond with 
her?” asked Ward, as a bright thought struck 
him. “ She writes the loveliest letters I ever 
read.” 

“Thank you,” said Meta. “I should like it 
very much. I know it would do me good. But 
I do not need you any more. Ward, now. You 
can go up-stairs to your books. I believe I 
had rather be by myself while I think all these 
things out. Good-night.” 


CHAPTEE XXXVII. 

HELPING TO LIFT THE LOAD. 

T HEEE were sad hearts in the house in 
Eose street. The husband and father had 
been quietly laid away to his rest among 
the blessed dead ; and it seemed to the mourn- 
ing hearts left behind that their sun had gone 
down forever behind the bank of dark clouds 
with which the providence of God had covered 
their domestic sky. How lonely the house 
seemed ! How strange to miss the tinkle of the 
little silver bell which had so often called their 
weary feet from their tasks to some gentle min- 
istry in the sick-room! It seemed as if they 
must still go about making the very same pre- 
parations for the night that they had been used 
to; as if the night nurse must come in just as 
usual ; as if there must still come from the sa- 
cred, hallowed room where he had lain so long 
the voice, the patient, calm, quiet voice, which 
had been such a source of spiritual strength to 
one and all through the passing of this weary 
time. The children found themselves stepping 
about as softly as ever, and peeping in, in their 
old way, at the door of “papa’s room,” only to 
see the bed forever empty ; and then they would 
flee away sobbing to jnother, and hide their 
heads upon her sheltering, aching heart. 

To Kate the clouds hung low and dark, and 
the ache in her heart grew more intense with 
every passing hour. Although relieved by what 
had passed between her stepmother and her- 
313 


814 


An Hundred- told. 


self, she was almost sick with grief; and the 
harrowing thought of what she might have 
done to make the last days of her father some 
of his happiest and best weighed heavily 
upon her mind. Besides, she could not help 
seeing that her stepmother had grown old and 
careworn under the constant strain, and that 
the time was quickly approaching when her 
strength would once more be put to the test, 
for Nellie was nearing the end of her journey 
very rapidly. Aside from all this, there were 
the pecuniary difficulties lying all along the 
pathway. How were all the additional ex- 
penses to be met? Kate thought hard over it 
all as they sat together that evening, but she 
dreaded to break the silence by asking a single 
question. She contented herself with taking 
Brownie on her lap and hugging him closely to 
her heart; but how she wished that some one 
would speak ! The widow was the first one to 
break the silence. 

“ I suppose that Harry will be obliged to get 
back to his studies as soon as possible,” said 
she, quietly. “Would you like to start on the 
early train in the morning, my son ? If so, I 
will see that you have your breakfast in ad- 
vance of the others.” 

Harold rocked back and forth for a moment 
without replying. Then, folding his arms de- 
liberately across his breast, he said, huskily: 
“ I don’t know, mother. It doesn’t seem right 
for me to go back and leave you so much alone. 
Nellie is fading rapidly ; we cannot help but see 
it, and to leave you with such a load of care 
upon your shoulders, and with only the children 


315 


Helping to Lift the Load. 

for company, isn’t kind or right. I think that 
I would best give up my studies for a while, 
and remain with you.” 

Mrs. Belmont laid her hand softly upon the 
arm of his chair. 

“You forget, dear,” said she, “ that I am never 
alone ; that the God of consolation and strength 
is ever with me, and that he has promised to 
strengthen as the day shall demand. I don’t 
know of anything that would make me more 
unhappy than for you to allow your studies to 
be interrupted. It was one of papa’s greatest 
comforts to think of your carrying on his work, 
and, perhaps, reaping the fields which he has 
sown. No, no; I can never consent to that. 
You must go right on and finish your educa- 
tion. I shall get along nicely. The Lord is 
the best of providers. Don’t fear for me.” 

“Of course,” said Harold, “there are some 
things to be considered. My education is cost- 
ing me nothing, to begin with; and, once it is 
obtained, I shall be in a position really to do 
something for you. But, after all, mother, you 
are alone, with a dying child to care for, and it 
does not seem right. I feel that I ought to in- 
sist upon staying with you.” 

Once, and not a very long time ago, Kate 
would have taken this as a hint, and would 
probably have broken out with something like 
this: “Oh! of course ! I know what you 
mean. You expect me to give up my work and 
come home here and stay with her and help 
her! As if / ought to be the only one to make 
sacrifices! I have already done too much, and 
never got any thanks for it, either!” But there 


316 


An Hundred-Fold, 


was a great and a good change in Kate, and to- 
night she felt differently. Her mind had un- 
dergone a reforming influence in a good many 
things. She saw plainly now that what she 
had done for her father and the children had 
not always been done in the right spirit, and 
that she had not recognized what they had 
done for her. Nellie’s hacking, restless cough 
smote painfully upon her ears; and as she 
thought of the girl going out of Kfe in the very 
bloom of her youth ; of the mother’s lonely 
days and nights to come; of her long, weary 
struggle with finances, Kate’s resolution was 
taken. Clasping closer to her beating heart 
the sleepy little boy still sitting in her lap, she 
spoke out suddenly and resolutely : “Mother is 
not to stay alone, Harold. I shall be with her ; 
so you need not worry.” 

“You!” exclaimed the young man. “Why, 
Kate, how is such a thing possible? Your 
school ” 

“My school is over for the summer,” said 
Kate, quietly, rocking Brownie back and forth ; 
“ and when the fall term begins, there are plenty 
of girls right there in Clinton who will be only 
too glad to take my place. There will be no 
difficulty about the school. Of course I know 
that it is not the thing for mother to continue 
here all alone and struggle along to make a 
living for the children; neither is it right for 
you to throw away such a good opportunity for 
a complete education. It is worth everything 
to you, and you must have it. I only wish that 
it had been my lot to have a better one. Ward 
is away, tied to his work, and there is no one 


317 


Helping to Lift the Load, 

but me. It’s all right. Now, don’t say a word, 
for I’m settled.” 

Harold looked at her in amazement. This 
was something so different from the Kate that 
he had been used to. The Kate that he knew 
thought first and always of herself, and was 
hurt if others did not do so, too. 

“ But, my dear,” interposed the mother, 
softly, “ you know that I am quite used to be- 
ing here with only the children for company. 
I do not mind it at all. There is no need of 
your making such a sacrifice for me, although 
I want to say how much I appreciate it. I 
shall get along as nicely as can be.” 

“Be that as it may,” said Kate, resolutely, 
“I shall stay if you will let me; and I don’t 
know that it can rightly be called ‘ a sacrifice.’ 
I think I am glad to be at home once more — 
perhaps more so than I thought I should be — 
and there are so many things to be done, and, 
now that Nellie is laid aside, only one pair of 
hands to do them. I shall stay, and — I have 
been thinking that perhaps we might take a 
few boarders. Mrs. Hansom was telling me 
that there was an overflow of students the last 
term, and that even more are expected for this 
coming year. Our dining-room is a good-sized 
one, and I believe that I have an undeveloped 
talent for managing a club. I should like to 
try my hand at it, anyway ; and I know that 
some w^omen in this town have made money by 
it. I do hope that nobody will say a word,” as 
Mrs. Belmont and Harold both tried to expos- 
tulate, “ because it does seem to me that it is 
the only thing for me to do right now, and I’m 


318 


An Hundred-Fold, 


bound to do something to make some money. 
I can’t sit down and have people sew their lives 
out to put bread in my mouth. It isn’t good in 
me, nor a sacrifice, nor anything of the kind. I 
think it’s right, and I want to do it. If I don’t 
exactly love it at first, I shall grow to do so 
by-and-by. I have a convenient way of liking 
anything that I very much desire to do.” 

“My dear, you must really allow me to say 
something,” said Mrs. Belmont, “if it is only to 
tell you how much I appreciate your thought- 
ful and unselfish kindness. I shall be in every 
way delighted to have you with me ; and I have 
reason to know, as we all have, what a good 
housekeeper you are. The plan is a good one, 
and will smooth the way very materially. But 
do you think it is best and wisest to do this ? 
Your school appreciates you, and it seems a 
pity for you to give it up and come home to 
worry along with us. Our Father will supply 
all our needs. I have never yet trusted him in 
vain.” 

Kate struggled with her feelings a moment 
before replying. She had led such a proud, 
reserved life that she found it difficult to break 
through its icy crust and let the strong, pent- 
up springs of emotion fiow through her words 
and actions. They broke forth with a violence 
that threatened to destroy both voice and ex- 
pression. 

“Please don't!'' she burst out. “I cannot 
bear it. My resolution is taken. I am sure I 
am right in this ; and I know, when you under- 
stand that I feel it to be my duty, you will 
cease to object.” 


319 


Helping to Lift the Load. 

“I will raise no more objections — not one,” 
said her mother. “And now I must slip away 
to Nellie. It is our trysting-time. Brownie, 
boy, you and Mamie had better seek your 
nests. It is time for birdies like you to tuck 
their heads under their wings for the night.” 

Taking the sleepy children by the hand, the 
mother left the room. 

“Kate,” said Harold, when they were left 
alone, ‘‘may I say how blessed is the change 
in you? Truly, ‘What hath God wrought!’ ” 

“And, Harold,” said Kate, putting her two 
hands upon his stalwart shoulders, “you will, 
perhaps, be more astonished when you hear 
me say that I regard our stepmother as one of 
our choicest blessings. I owe more than I can 
ever tell to her Christian love and her earnest 
prayers. May God bless her!” 

“Amen!” said Harold. 


CHAPTEH XXXVIII. 

A SBMIOUS QUESTION. 

T he summer wore away, and with it went 
the sweet life of the gentle Nellie. Kate 
had grown to love her dearly, and many 
were the heart-talks which the two girls had 
together in the early evenings, before it was 
time to light the lamps, and the soft twilight 
was all that they had to relieve the gloaming. 
Kate’s return and Ward’s happy change of 
heart had been sources of the greatest comfort 
to the dying girl. She said that it seemed as 
if the Lord was scattering roses upon her path- 
way to the better world. 

“ It was something that I had prayed for so 
long,” said Nellie, one evening. “ It seemed as 
if I could not be content to go home to heaven 
and be so happy, and leave you all here so un- 
settled and comfortless. It has always seemed 
to me as if there was a great mistake made 
when we came into the family, although I know 
that God never makes mistakes, and mamma 
ought not, when she leans so hard on the ever- 
lasting arms.” 

“There was no mistake made at all,” said 
Kate, generously, leaning her head on the little 
pale hand that she held, for Nellie was confined 
to her bed now, and Kate was seated in a low 
rocker by her bedside. “ Let me tell you some- 
thing, my dear little sister. If you bad not 
come, I am certain that I should have made a 
sad tangle of things. I can see it now very 
320 


A Serious Qiiestion. 


321 


plainly. Of course I was only a girl, and did 
not understand economy, and I was determined 
to have everything just the very nicest; and 
the housekeeping bills were enormous. Papa, 
dear man, never said a word. Of course he 
would not, for I verily believe that I did do the 
best I knew how ; but I suspect that it was the 
beginning of his getting into debt ; and all the 
time I had an idea that I was a perfect steam- 
engine and was carrying everything in the world 
in my train on a smooth track. Well, you know 
something of how things were when you came, 
and how your mother saved our home to us, 
and worked to take care of poor papa and the 
children. But even that was not the worst of 
my crooked paths. I was not teaching the 
children anything good, and I was a bad ex- 
ample to them all the time and a downward 
influence. I did take good care of their bodies, 
but their souls — I shudder now to think what 
they would have been if left to me. God de- 
livered them, and sent them a teacher after his 
own heart, and I can thank him for it now. 
Oh! dear Nellie, if it was a mistake, it was a 
blessed one. It has been the salvation of this 
house. I should have made shipwreck of my- 
self and the rest if it had not been for your 
mother; though I will do myself the justice to 
say that I believe I was more blind than I was 
dishonest all the time.” 

“ What a comfort to know that in that world 
to which we are journeying we ‘shall see as we 
are seen, and know as we are known’!” said 
Nellie, softly. “No mistaken lives up there, at 
any rate. I do so long to be there, Katie.” 

21 


322 A71 Hundred- 1* old. 

you?'’ asked Kate, earnestly, bending 
her gaze upon the wan face. “I can under- 
stand to some extent; but to me this world is a 
delightful place. I enjoy the struggle, the toil, 
the constant overcoming. If I may only gain 
the crown of a conqueror, I shall be more than 
satisfied. I know that it will take a lifetime, 
but I really feel as if I were making some ad- 
vances. But, Nellie, if to you death seems but 
the opening of heaven’s gate, to your mother, 
to me, to all who are left behind, it is a relent- 
less enemy. The sting has not yet gone out of 
it. It is so sad to have you leave us when we 
have all learned to love you so.” 

“ But it is so much better for me,” said the 
tired girl, speaking with difficulty. “I have 
been a cripple nearly all my life, and it has 
been such a trial to me. I have needed so 
much grace to bear it. I have fretted so much 
because I must necessarily be a burden to my 
friends. I have always prayed that I might 
not live to be old. It is so good of God to 
take me so soon.” 

‘‘Hush, dear!” Kate raised a warning hand 
as the door opened, and the mother entered 
with her comforting smile, and with the little 
supper-tray in her hand; for no hand but the 
mother’s ever carried in that tray, and no one 
but the mother ever sat with Nellie while she 
ate, with feeble appetite, the food so delicately 
prepared. Kate rose as she approached, and 
went out to help Betty Ann put the finishing 
touches to the family tea. 

Brownie was studying his geography lesson 
by the dining-room lamp and Mamie was writ- 


A Serious Question, 


323 


ing a composition, while Clyde was putting to- 
gether an arithmetical puzzle, the latest birth- 
day present from mamma. In the olden time, 
Kate would have scattered them all in a twink- 
ling, and have scolded them all well for having 
their arms on the table ; but now she contented 
herself with bringing the little stand out of the 
hall and placing it so that the rays from the 
hanging lamp would fall full upon it ; and when 
she had set some chairs cosily about it, she re- 
quested the little students to change their quar- 
ters, pointing out the advantage of their having 
a study-table all to themselves. 

Kate isn’t a bit like she used to be, is she ? ’* 
whispered Mamie, as her sister disappeared in 
the kitchen, and the children gleefully made the 
exchange of tables. “ Don’t you remember how 
she used to scold us for every little thing, and 
how stingy she was with the warm cookies when 
she baked? Now she goes about looking nice 
and smiley, and she lets us have little parties 
whenever we want them.” 

“She used to make birthday parties for us, 
though, Mamie,” said Brownie, who always 
tried to bring forward all the good things about 
people ; “ and she was very pleasant sometimes. 
I remember how I used to lay my head in her 
lap, and sometimes she’d play with my curls. 
Kate was pretty good, too, Mamie ; and we 
were a lot of trouble, you know.” 

“Nothing like she is now, though,” stoutly 
asserted the little maiden, “and I know the 
reason : she prays now ; I’ve seen her lots of 
times ; and she never used to do it — before me, 
anyway.” 


324 


An Hundred-Fold. 


“Kate’s a first-rate girl,” said Clyde, looking 
up for a minute from his puzzle. ‘‘I like her 
the best kind.” 

“I know somebody else who does, too,” said 
Mamie, with a wise look. “ It’s a secret — you 
mustn’t breathe a word of it — but I heard Miss 
Sarah Bush tell mamma that she was just as 
sure as anything that Mr. Percival intends to 
ask Kate to marry him.” 

Brownie’s sunny face actually grew quite 

“ I don’t like that at all,” said he. “ That 
upsets my plans. I meant to take care of Kate 
myself. I shall make a great deal of money, 
and I want to take you and Kate everywhere — 
around the world, maybe. Wouldn’t you like 
to go west and see the Rockies and the geysers, 
and the gold mines and big trees in California, 
and down south to Florida, and eat oranges 
and figs off the trees, and see the alligators ? 
A person would have a picnic all the time.” 

Brownie had just begun to study geography, 
and he lived in dreamland, wandering over land 
and sea, communing with the different nations, 
and building great air-castles in regard to what 
he meant to do when he grew up, and became 
the owner of a line of steamers, or the superin- 
tendent of a mammoth railway which should 
belt the world. 

Just as the leaves began to fall, sweet Nellie 
passed away as softly as fades a summer day, 
and the house missed another presence. How- 
ever, their mourning had in it the beautiful 
hope of the resurrection; and they laid away 
the mortal remains, knowing that when they 


A Serious Question, 


325 


saw her again, it would be in the glorious like- 
ness of her Saviour. 

The winter slipped away, and spring came 
once more, bringing with it the house-cleaning 
and other extra work. Kate went through it 
with flying colors, and with the help of Betty 
Ann, papered the upstair rooms afresh, bought 
and made up a new carpet for the sitting-room, 
rolled the sewing-machine into what used to be 
papa’s study, and made everything as fresh as 
a new-blown rose. Then she brought a little 
roll of bills and laid them lovingly in her step- 
mother’s lap. 

“There!” said she, “behold the surplus! 
That much after all expenses are met, and over 
and above what I have spent in freshening up 
the house. I think that keeping boarders pays 
first-rate.” 

“Twenty-five dollars!” exclaimed Mrs. Bel- 
mont, with a smile of exquisite pleasure. “ My 
dear, you have made a grand success of it. I 
believe you are using your talents in the right 
direction. No, no,” putting the little roll back 
into Kate’s hand, “ I shall not accept a gift like 
that, my love. It makes me feel like a thief to 
even think of it. You will need it all. By the 
way, have you heard the good news? Some 
ladies were in this morning, and they told me 
that the Grace- Street Church has given Mr. 
Percival a call.” 

Kate’s face flushed. She had heard intima- 
tions of such a thing before, but it seemed al- 
most too good to be true. She laughed in a 
light way as she replied : ‘‘ That counts another 
boarder for me, mother, dear. Arthur won’t 
dare go anywhere else.” 


326 


An Hundred-Fold, 


“ I don’t know, dear,” replied Mrs. Belmont. 
“They are talking very earnestly about build- 
ing a parsonage, and I shouldn’t wonder if they 
really accomplish it this time. You know they 
have agitated the subject several times, even 
when papa was living; but, as he was a pro- 
perty-holder, the case was not so urgent. I 
wish they would ; I think it would be very nice.” 

A strange little smile accompanied these 
words, which Kate pretended not to see. 

With the evening came the gentleman him- 
self. He was quite one of the family now, and 
was greeted loudly by the younger members of 
it, who crowded into his encircling arms as 
soon as he was seated in his own peculiar 
chair. But, though as cordial and genial as 
ever, he was just a little absent-minded, and 
his eyes wandered oftener than usual to Kate’s 
tall, lithe form, as she moved about the room 
doing the little last things belonging to a very 
busy day. He lingered long after the children’s 
bedtime, and discussed the probabilities of his 
accepting or rejecting the call which the church 
had given him. As the clock struck ten, Mrs. 
Belmont gathered up her spectacles and re- 
treated to the study, saying that she always 
liked to spend an hour or so in papa’s room in 
reading before retiring ; and Kate and Mr. Per- 
cival were left alone. 

He moved his chair nearer to the little stand 
upon which lay her needle-work, with a part of 
which she was busy. 

“Can’t you put that up for to-night?” said 
he, with a note of concern in his voice. “I 
have something to talk with you about.” 


A Serious Question, 


327 


“I don’t see how mj sewing need be in the 
way of your tongue,” replied she, with a little 
laugh. “ I am pressed for time, and Brownie 
needs his waist. Schoolboys are a terror to 
waists and trousers, you know.” 

He made an impatient little gesture, then 
asked abruptly: ‘‘Kate, shall I accept this 
call?” 

“That is not a question for me to decide,” 
said she, flushing a little under his searching 
glance. 

“For you to decide, and no one else,” he an- 
swered. “Thus far you have my future in your 
hands.” 

“Then I say, accept it, by all means,” she 
returned, speaking lightly, “as it will be a help 
to our finances, for I shall expect you to board 
here.’' 

“But I shan’t board here,” said he, in a pe- 
culiar tone. “ There is to be a parsonage, and 
I am expected to occupy it, if I can get some 
nice little body to keep house for me. If not, 
I shall be compelled to notify the committee to 
look further. I mean it,” as Kate laughed. 

“Well,” said she, “there is Mrs. Martin; she 
has no home, and she would make you a lovely 
housekeeper. I will speak to her about it, if 
you wish me to do so.” 

“ Mrs. Martin will not do at all,” he replied. 
“Not but that she is a very nice lady, but she 
is not the lady whom I want. Kate, let us be 
serious about this. We must not trifle over a 
question which deeply affects the lives of both 
of us, and upon which hangs the acceptance or 
rejection of this call. I am sure that you know 


828 


An Hundred- Fold, 


it is you whom I want, and you only. I have 
always loved you; always intended to make you 
my wife if I could. I have been waiting only 
for one thing, and that was for you to give 
your whole life to Jesus. I believe that you 
have done this, and that you can be my helper 
in my work. You know what a minister’s life 
and labor is. You know me. Now, the ques- 
tion is. Are you willing to undertake the posi- 
tion which I ask you to fill? If you are not, I 
cannot come here. Can you answer me to- 
night, Kate?” 

There was a growing light on Kate’s face. 
Arthur held out his hand, and she placed hers 
in it, with the words : “If you think me fit, Ar- 
thur, after — all you know about me ; if you 
love me and want me, as you say — oh! Arthur, 
I never expected you to choose 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


OUTWARD BOUND. 

K ate had been settled in the parsonage 
as Arthur Percival’s wife for somewhat 
over two years. It had been a happy 
period for her, and she had developed into' an 
excellent woman, with whom the Grace-Street 
Church of Oakland was more than satisfied. 
As will be remembered, the church had always 
had a very tender feeling for Kate, not only 
because she was her mother’s daughter, but 
because she was a brisk and energetic leader 
in their midst; and, now that she led them 
closer to Jesus; now that she upheld the wo- 
men’s devotional meetings, and moved them to 
greater spirituality and more earnest endeavor, 
she was beloved in a larger and better sense. 
No one was more welcome to the sick than she, 
for she carried in with her the brightness and 
breeziness of the outside world, charmed away 
their aches and pains, and gave them some- 
thing helpful to think of. She had especially 
kept in touch with the young people, not only 
in the church, but in the world around her; 
and, as her pleasant home was always thrown 
open, they gathered in there from time to time 
to have their social tea-meetings, their rehears- 
als for their monthly concerts, and their con- 
sultations as to ways and means for accom- 
plishing this and that. 

With her stepmother’s consent, she had taken 
Brownie to live with her when she went to her 


329 


830 


An Hundred- Fold, 


new home. It was a very hard matter for Mrs. 
Belmont to let him go, but she understood just 
how Kate longed for him, and she knew that it 
would be for his advantage, as Kate and Mr. 
Percival were better able to give him an edu- 
cation than she was. To Mamie the separa- 
tion was almost a cruel one ; but she was so 
busy with her school and her music, of which 
she meant to make great things, that she soon 
became reconciled, the more so that they met 
almost every day at each other’s homes. 

It was June, the month of roses, and Kate’s 
house was being decorated in a special manner, 
evidently for some extraordinary event. Ma- 
mie was there, busily arranging flowers into 
one design after another, for which she had a 
special talent ; Brownie and Clyde were hurried 
off down street upon one errand after another; 
the front room upstairs was undergoing secret 
adornings under Mrs. Belmont’s supervision; 
and Kate was out in the kitchen with her help, 
concocting marvels in the way of evening re- 
freshments. It was plain that company of 
some kind was expected; and perhaps Kate’s 
own words, as she makes one of her hurried 
trips upstairs to ‘‘see how mother is getting 
along,” will explain the mystery. 

“You see,” said Kate, “Mrs. Knox wanted 
them to be married at her house, but I told her 
and Harold, too, that Edna Eichie had been 
too dear a friend to me for me to let her be 
married to him anywhere except in my own 
little parlor ; and, as she is an orphan, without 
home or relatives, it comes about so nicely, 
doesn’t it ? I think that it is exactly the thing. 


Outward Bound. 


331 


Oh ! I know ! Of course you would like to do 
all sorts of unselfish things in the nicest way ; 
but you have served your day and generation, 
and now it is my turn. Edna has plenty of 
friends who would be delighted to have her 
married at their homes ; but I do think that I 
ought to have the preference. Mrs. Knox will 
come with her on the noon train, and Har- 
old telegraphs that he will be here without fail 
at three o’clock. The ceremony is to be at eight 
this evening, and they are to start for Uncle 
Dick’s to-morrow. They will stay there until 
the middle of July, Harry writes. The steamer 
sails on the thirty-first, you know. Doesn’t it 
seem strange to have them go away off to China 
as missionaries? They are going entirely for 
love’s sake, too ; for, as Uncle Dick has made 
Harold his heir, he need do nothing except sit 
down and enjoy this world if he likes. But no- 
thing will satisfy either Harold or Edna but to 
carry the gospel to China. The only cloud to 
this little wedding is that Ward will not be 
here. However, they intend to stop off to see 
him. And do you know, mother, dear, that 
when I think of the success we are all being 
enabled to make of life, my heart always feels 
as though it ought to thank you? You carried 
Ward over the most critical period of his life, 
and you helped Harold to his education ; you 
are making a musician of Mamie, denying your- 
self everything, that she may have a classical 
education. So many times, when we have 
heeded help, you have stepped forward and 
planned out a way ; and we can only love you 
in return.” 


332 


An Hundred- Fold. 


‘‘There is no return so great as love,” re- 
sponded the mother, kissing the blooming cheek 
so near her. “ But I fear that you are multi- 
plying my endeavors by too great a number. I 
have simply done what seemed to be duty. I 
think I have had very good ground in which to 
sow my seed, though, Katie. The growth has 
been luxuriant. For instance, look at Ward. 
He has fulfilled his contract with Mr. Eandall, 
and is making magnificent progress under the 
direction of Mr. McYay. In a year or two, at 
furthest, he will be admitted to the bar; and 
Mr. McYay wrote me, just the other day, of the 
oiit-and-out Christian life he is leading among 
his fellows, and of the wonderful influence that 
he has over them. Ah! dear Kate, if I have 
done some seed-sowing and some helping, you 
have done a great deal of cultivating and 
growing.” 

“I am glad you can say that,” said Kate. “I 
believe I have tried to grow.” Then, turning a 
final look on the pretty room, she said : “ How 
cool and summery it all looks, mother! Quite 
bridey, I think.” 

At this moment there was quite a commo- 
tion below stairs. Two little boys were racing 
through the hall, each one trying to get ahead 
of the other. Two boyish voices shouted out, 
loudly and excitedly : “ Mamma ! Mamie ! Kate ! 
who do you think has come in on the morning 
express? We were just at the depot to see if 
that box had come from Uncle Bichard, and 
we saw him get off the train. We never stopped 
to speak to him even, but just ran home as fast 
as we could skip to tell you he had come. He 


Outward Bound, 


333 


looks different, too, but we knew him. He has 
got a moustache, and his hair isn’t long and 
rough any more, and he’s got a gold watch — 
we saw him take it out to look at the time, and 
it’s a splendid one — and he looks nicer than 
Arthur ! ” 

All this, in detached sentences, came floating 
up, flrst from one boy and then from the other, 
in wild, excited tones ; and the two ladies hur- 
ried down to find out who in the world it could 
be who was such a finished gentleman as to 
“ look nicer than Arthur.” 

“ Why,” said Brownie, almost choking with 
his excitement and hurry, “don’t you know? 
Didn’t we tell you? Why, Ward, of course, 
and he’s gone on home, and mother’d better 
hurry, because there’s nobody there but Betty 
Ann.” 

This was enough. The ladies hurriedly ar- 
rayed themselves for the street, and, followed 
by all the children, went to the house on Bose 
street as fast as their feet and a street-car could 
carry them. Sure enough, there was Ward — 
a manly-looking fellow, indeed, with a heavy 
brown moustache and merry black eyes. He 
was glad enough to see them, too, and caught 
each one of them in turn in his big arms and 
gave them a characteristic hug ; after which he 
stalked out to the kitchen, and searched the 
cupboard for cookies and pie with all his old 
appetite. How much good it did them to see 
him, the once unpromising boy with the dusky 
eyes and the sullen face, developed into this 
charming, intelligent young man full of plans 
for a useful manhood ! 


334 


An Hundred- Fold, 


“ Haven’t come home to stay this time,” he 
said, munching his cooky with all his old-time 
relish. ‘‘Just took a notion to run back and 
see Hal married. Wait until I get through my 
lecture- course and am admitted to the bar, and 
then you’ll see. I’ve got it all planned out.” 

But what it was he would not tell. 

The wedding was a very quiet one, no one 
being present except the special friends of the 
family; but it was a happy and a joyous one. 
The congratulations were somewhat tearful, to 
be sure, but hearty and helpful; the refresh- 
ments were elegant, and everything was most 
hopeful and cheery. 

And so the young couple started out on the 
untried sea of married life, their little barque 
rocking upon the buoyant waves, and gliding 
swiftly on toward the great and trackless waste 
of waters beyond the sight of human ken. 
Trusting in the presence of the Comforter, and 
-in the matchless voice which once commanded 
the storm-tossed waves to silence, they filled 
their sails and set out for distant heathen lands. 

“Outward bound!” May their life be peace- 
ful, and may they bring to Jesus the wealth of 
a multitude of saved souls! 

Surrounded by prayers like these, Harold 
and his wife set forward upon the voyage of 
life. 


CHAPTER XL. 

GOLDEN SHEA VES. 

S EVERAL years have passed away, quiet, 
uneventful years, full of busy labor and 
diligent study. Mrs. Belmont still lives in 
the house on Rose street ; but her silvery hair 
and rather feeble steps announce the fact that 
she is travelling the last stages of the journey 
of life. Her life is a very serene and quiet one, 
spent in much meditation, with the Bible upon 
her lap ; in winter, before the study fire, and in 
summer, on the porch, where she can gaze into 
the far-away blue heavens, while she ‘‘longs to 
be there.” 

Betty Ann still remains with her; but there 
is little to do now, for the boarders have .been 
a thing of the past for a great while, and the 
sewing-machine is seldom in use any more. 
The truth is. Ward has been the acknowledged 
head of this household for some years, is still 
an unmarried man, and more especially “ mo- 
ther’s boy” than any of the others. He is one 
of the most popular lawyers in Oakland, and is 
ever the willing and able advocate of the poor 
and oppressed. His heavy logic and wither- 
ing sarcasm, coupled with the truth, which he 
never fails to drag from its hiding-place and to 
unravel, have a way of tearing in pieces the 
arguments of his opponents, and he seldom 
loses a case; so that “if Belmont undertakes it, 
the whole business is sure to succeed,” is the 
general expression of the “men about town.” 
As soon as ever he was free to establish him- 


335 


386 


An Hundred-Fold. 


self in business, be came back to bis old borne, 
put up bis sign, took bis stepmother’s wearing 
labor out of ber bands, sent Clyde to college at 
bis own expense, and declared that be bimself 
should never marry while mother lived. He is 
perfectly devoted to her ; brings her the loveli- 
est and choicest of hot-house flowers during 
the dreary months of winter, when she is shut 
in, and the freshest literature ; and twice a week, 
in fine weather, he drives her out in a carriage 
and takes her to call on her old friends. His 
interest in the church has increased with the 
passing of the years, too ; and his earnest work 
in the Sabbath-school class and his enthusiastic 
interest in the Young People’s Society make him 
known as a tower of strength in the Grace-Street 
Church. Besides this, he has a pet project, 
which his mother helps him, with all her mind 
and heart, to carry out. This is the gathering 
of the boys of the streets, one evening of each 
week, into his own home, where he makes them 
happy by means of music, innocent games, 
magic-lantern views, and light refreshments. 
He carries in his pocket a little note-book, and 
whenever he meets one of these social tramps, 
he takes it out, stops the boy, shakes hands 
with him, inquires his name and residence, 
puts it down in his book, and gives him a cor- 
dial invitation to attend his Friday-evening 
club. They do not all come, of course ; some 
ridicule the idea of “Lawyer Belmont winning 
a hard case out of court”; but a great many 
do come, and Wa,rd has had the supreme satis- 
faction of rescuing more than one or two young 
men from the power of street associations, and 
of guiding them into the assembly of the saints. 


Golden Sheaves. 


337 


Harold and his wife are still in China, build- 
ing up the worship of the “unknown God.” 
They now expect to come home within a year 
or two, and will bring with them a little boy 
and girl which have been born to them in that 
far-off land; and, perhaps, if their hearts will 
allow, will leave the children with grandma and 
Aunt Kate, that they may receive an American 
education. 

Mamie has a position as music-teacher in the 
female department of the Oakland University. 
She has grown into a brilliant and accomplished 
young lady, a leader in social circles, and a de- 
voted worker in the cause of temperance. Her 
strong Christian influence is felt all through the 
institution; and she often says, in her earnest 
talks with her pupils, that she owes almost 
everything to her stej^mother’s untiring efforts 
in her behalf. Mrs. Belmont’s patient teaching 
and her determination that Mamie should make 
the very utmost of the gift with which she was 
so royally endowed triumphed over the girl’s 
rather indolent disposition. “I should never 
have known that I had any music in me had it 
not been for her,” said Mamie. “ She was such 
an accomplished musician herself that she 
found out the melody lying all untuned in my 
soul, and brought it out at once.” 

Clyde is a gospel temperance lecturer, and is 
editor and proprietor of a temperance paper 
called The Investigator^ in a neighboring city. 
For a very young man, he is a power and a 
man of promise. 

Brownie is studying railroading, with a view 
to becoming at some time the driver of one of 
22 


338 


An Eundred-Fold. 


those beautiful engines which he has never 
ceased to admire with his whole soul. His 
ambition to see the Eockies is not one whit 
abated, and he seizes every available opportu- 
nity to make a little extra money, so that he 
can go on excursions here and there, and see 
the world which God and men have made so 
beautiful. 

It is Mrs. Belmont’s sixty-sixth birthday — a 
beautiful, balmy September day. The doors 
are all open ; the hammock is swung between 
the two great trees in the pretty side yard, and 
the lady herself is dressed in holiday attire, 
and is sitting in her cushioned rocker on the 
side porch, over which the dark green ivy creeps 
abundantly. Her silvery hair is brushed back 
in soft waves from her smiling face, and her 
hands are busy with a basket of fragrant roses, 
which she is arranging into small bouquets. 
From time to time she glances up from her 
lovely employment to look expectantly both up 
and down the street. Soon there come tw^o 
little somebodies, bearing between them a little 
burden. These are Kate’s twin girls, Bertha 
and Blanche. They come tripping in at the 
gate, and wind their arms about grandma’s 
neck, and give her sixty-six kisses apiece; then 
they present the basket in due form : “ Your 
birthday gift from us, grandma ; and papa and 
mamma are coming with Stanley in his cab.” 
Then, as grandma opens the dainty basket, and 
discloses to view a beautiful, frosted, birthday 
cake, with the figures “66” in gold-leaf in the 
centre, and surrounded by a wreath of delicate 
fern, they cry out rapturously: “We made it 


Golden Sheaves, 


339 


almost all ourselves, grandma; and it is just 
chock-full of fruit — dates and figs and raisins 
and citron and — oh, everything! And papa 
said, grandma, that your sixty-six years were 
just like it — sweet and fruitful.” 

For answer, grandma kisses both velvety 
cheeks, and pins on each white dress a tiny 
bouquet of roses. 

Soon they are all gathered in the old house : 
Arthur, Kate, and baby Stanley, Clyde, Ward, 
and Brownie ; and lastly, Mamie comes in with 
a roll of music under her arm ; a goodly com- 
pany gathering around the grey-haired mother. 
Beautiful gifts are lavished upon her; sweetest 
wishes for the future are poured out lovingly; 
and Ward tenderly conducts her to the dining- 
table, which is abundantly spread for the occa- 
sion by their joint efforts. How different from 
her first reception in that home! I wonder if 
they think of it now, as they gather about the 
heavily-laden board, and bow their heads rever- 
ently while a blessing is asked, and vie with 
each other in their attentions to her. If she 
thinks of it, it is only to bless the divine Giver 
of every good; and, as she looks upon the 
golden harvest, it is only humbly to thank him 
who “giveth the increase.” 

“In the morning sow thy seed, 

Nor stay thy hand at evening hour, 

Never asking which shall prosper; 

Both may yield thee fruit and flower. 

Thou shalt reap of that thou sowest; 

Though thy grain be small and bare, 

God shall clothe it as he pleases 
For the harvest full and fair.” 

“And some brought forth twenty, some thirty, 
and some an hundred-fold.” 



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